


A Broken Mind: Betrayal

by Eileen_Donovan (besame_bj)



Category: The Bourne Identity (2002)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gay Male Character, Hurt/Comfort, Jason whump, M/M, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-08 00:07:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 108,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15231030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besame_bj/pseuds/Eileen_Donovan
Summary: SUMMARY:“His mind is broken. We broke it.” Ward Abbott, Deputy Director, TreadstoneGENRE:This story takes place in "The Bourne Identity" time frame, i.e., a young Jason Bourne living in Paris. Other than that, it has nothing to do with my other two stories or the movie, it's completely AU, and Jason doesn't have amnesia. The violence in this story is almost completely a thing of the past or it takes place off-screen, with one brief exception. The story centers around a gay relationship forced on Jason by his boss, Alexander Conklin, a relationship fraught with danger--for him, for his target--that blossoms into something Jason never expected: love.While there's a fair amount of sex, this isn't a m/m porn-focused story. I wrote stories in the "Queer as Folk" fandom for ten years and developed a strong preference for gay love stories that unfolded within the framework of a solid story with lots of danger woven into the tale. So porn? No. Sex, love, anguish, danger, heartache? Yes! :)THIS STORY IS COMPLETE.





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter One**

Jason parked on a side street, hoping to go unnoticed. Exiting his car, he walked with quick steps toward the house, head down, heart beating fast. He’d come from a late night at Vérité and wasn’t looking his best thanks to a bit of mid-afternoon wrestling with one of the new Series 73s they were installing. Brushing his suit coat, he hoped he wasn’t too disheveled, since it was the head guy, Michael Catalano, who’d summoned him to this meeting, although he had no idea why. Sure, sometimes they talked, but it was usually during staff meetings when other staffers were involved. Were they onto him? Was this whole operation about to blow up in his face? Or was he reading too much into the request that he “drop by” Catalano’s place? Hard to know. Long day, he was tired. He’d been leading this double life at its accelerated pace far too long.

A moment later, he’d found the right address. The CEO’s home had a plaster-and-limestone exterior with classic architectural features like pilasters and black iron railings. Very nice and not only fitting for a man in Catalano’s position, but appropriate for this upscale Parisian neighborhood. Jason followed the blue-and-purple flagstone walkway to the backdoor as he’d been instructed, brushing his clothing again as he stood there. Then straightening out, he knocked.

The door opened an instant later. “Jason!” Catalano said, his tone more jovial than it had ever been, at least to Jason. “Thanks for coming. Thanks!” A handsome, well-groomed man in his 50s, Michael Catalano had a history most people in the States knew ... hell, most people in the _world._ Right now, though, two things Jason had never seen when dealing with the man stood out: he was upset and he was drunk, those striking blue eyes bloodshot and unfocused, his dark hair, tinged with silver, a disheveled mess. “Come in, please, come in!” he said, a slight slur to his words and pulled Jason through the door and into the house, the strong smell of liquor on his breath. “Sorry to make this so, hmm, short notice. You want a drink?” He had an arm around Jason’s shoulders as he moved further into the kitchen. “I got whiskey, gin, vodka, anything you’d like. A beer, maybe?”

“No, sir, thank you, I’ll pass.” Jason watched as the man, nonetheless, pulled a couple of beers out of the refrigerator, steering them toward the living area, the bottles clinking against one another as they walked. God almighty. He was hammered. Michael Catalano, only son of Charles Catalano, the now-deceased president of the United States, the guy no one would ever forget because he’d been assassinated in such a bloody manner almost fourteen years ago. Michael Catalano, so drunk he swayed as he walked. “Thank you,” he said as the CEO handed one of the beers to him before sitting down. Jason sat next to him, an awkward grasp on the beer. “Uh, you have a great place here, sir.”

As if he was seeing the place for the first time, Catalano looked around. “Thanks! I had a great realtor and she found it almost immediately. It’s not too ostentatious, is it?”

“It’s not” sounded more like “iznot,” but Jason ignored that. “No, sir, not at all. Very tasteful.” He transferred the beer to his left hand as he looked around, searching for words that’d define the place. “It’s … the colors are peaceful and it looks like, kind of like a sanctuary.” Keeping his gaze on Catalano, he set the beer bottle on a side table.

“Peaceful.” Catalano squinted, looking around the room again. “It is, isn’t it? I had a good decorator too. I’ve been … on my own since my kids grew up and after my wife …” His voice drifted off into silence as he continued to stare at the room, running a finger across his lower lip.

He knew that Michael Catalano’s wife had ALS and after she’d been diagnosed many years ago, the horrific disease took her in a short period of time, one that would’ve been devastating for anyone. Jason didn’t know what to say.

The silence stretched out and became uncomfortable, but Catalano continued to look around the room. “She, uh, this is the anni- … anniversary of her death. It’s been thirteen years.”

A piece of the puzzle thumped into place. “I’m sorry. That must be painful,” he whispered, wondering why he’d been chosen to comfort the man with what was still a profound grief. They barely knew one another. Yes, he was the senior IT project manager for a series of mainframe installations at Catalano’s organization, Vérité. They talked, sometimes every day. Catalano often turned up in the middle of an installation, asking questions, making jokes with the techs, interested and engaged. Jason sat in on project meetings, the weekly staff meetings, and took part in office functions like catered lunches and holiday parties. He often spoke to Catalano on the phone as well as to many of his surrogates. It was his job, although all of that? A big, fat lie. 

“I miss her so much.” Catalano turned those bloodshot eyes toward Jason as he spoke. “It’s so lonely.”

Catalano was a key figure in the investigation of a clandestine organization founded by Charles Catalano’s father, Michael’s grandfather. That organization had been passed down to his father, the dead president and now, presumably, to him, a secret organization considered deadly to national security. The furtive group, called Infernum, had shadowy powers, ones responsible for actions that may have had a profound impact on the workings of governments throughout the world. They might even be the group responsible for Charles Catalano’s death, as strange as that sounded. And Jason? He was the CIA guy spying on Michael. “I know what you mean,” he said, responding to the man’s statement, his voice soft. “I-I get lonely too, although not for the same reasons.”

Another silence engulfed them, but Jason wasn’t about to inject any opinion into the conversation. God knows, he’d be in big trouble if he lost this job. He could not piss off this man or give him reason to suspect him, no matter what. 

“Uh, you know Sidney Kratts?” Catalano asked, taking a sharp turn.

“The system admin manager? Handles all the servers?”

“Yes. You’ve dealt with her a lot.”

“We installed the servers first, so, yes, she and I interacted every day. She’s a nice person,” Jason offered, not sure what this was about.

“She talks a lot with April.”

April was Catalnao’s executive assistant. “Right, yes. They go out to lunch sometimes.”

“Uh …” Catalano took a pull on his beer, then set the bottle down on the coffee table with a decisive thump, his lips pressed tight. “She says … she told April that you’re gay.”

Jason controlled his expression. Oh, fuck. Was this for real? He’d used that as an excuse as to why he didn’t respond to the female come-ons, including from Sidney. The last thing a spy needed was to be dating someone, especially someone he worked with. You stayed as invisible as possible. “Yes, that’s, uh, true,” he managed, his mouth dry. 

“I see.” Another long moment of silence as Jason wondered if he was about to be fired. Making that confession had been a bad move, hadn’t it? Shit! Catalano took another long pull on his beer. “Me too,” he whispered.

This time no one spoke for at least five minutes. With frantic haste, Jason was parsing the damage this might cause, although his thoughts kept pushing him in another direction. Were they now good friends because they’d both outed themselves? Or did Catalano have something else in mind, something far more serious, something that might mitigate his loneliness? The chief executive officer of Vérité? Was he about to make his move?

Catalano drained his beer. “Want another?” he asked as he stood up, swaying in front of Jason.

“Uh, no, sir, thank you,” he replied, shutting down that crazy thought with a quick snap. You didn’t go through all the shit he’d gone through and freak out because someone threatened to gouge a deep wound into your careful operation. Which didn’t mean the installations, of course. That was nothing but an elaborate cover for the snooping he’d done: the fiber optic and dynamic mikes that’d already captured so much intel; the phones he’d bugged; the e-mail accounts he’d hacked; the personal computers he was able to monitor thanks to a little tech magic. With one stupid comment, was that was now teetering on the edge of disaster? Couldn’t happen. And if it did? He was dead.

Catalano returned with two more beers, still swaying as he stood before Jason. He set down the second beer on the table and then unscrewed the top of the one in his hand, taking a deep swig as he looked down at Jason.

Catalano was taller than him as well as heavier, but also older. Jason had no doubt he could put him down if he needed to, but it couldn’t come to that, there had to be another way to—

“Come on.” Catalano set his beer down, grabbing Jason’s hand to pull him up. Then, arm around his shoulders, he was leading him out of the room.

“Uh, sir, I should be going,” Jason said, breathless at how fast this was escalating. “I’ve got a report to finish and—”

Catalano pushed open a door.

Jason stopped, resisting as the man tried to pull him further into the bedroom. “Sir, please, I—”

“Come on, come on,” Catalano was murmuring, eyes half-closed as he drew Jason in. “You’re gay, I’m gay, we know each other, we could know each other much better, we could have a lot of fun, it makes sense, don’t you think? So much sense.”

His drunken muttering only verified what he had in mind. “No, sir, I’d have to disagree,” Jason said as Catalano continued to pull him into the room. “This isn’t advisable for many reasons. Think about it. It’d be smarter if I went home and you got some sleep. Perhaps we can—”

In a breathtaking instant, Catalano slammed Jason against a wall and pushed closer, grinding against him. The imprint of his boner against Jason’s thigh became a major focus. “God, you have an amazing body,” he whispered as he ran his hands down Jason’s chest and arms, over his butt, and onto his legs. “You’re so fucking fit, nothing but goddamn muscle. I want to …” Moving fast for a man so intoxicated, Catalano smashed his lips over Jason’s mouth at the same moment his hand clamped onto his dick.

Brain working overtime, Jason searched for a solution that wouldn’t alienate Catalano, or embarrass the man, and, most importantly, would not end their working relationship. “Sir?” He spoke when he was able to pull free from the tongue in his mouth, not to mention the man’s tight grip, thinking again how easy it’d be to put this guy on the floor. “Please, listen to me. Sir?” He cupped the man’s face with his hands and looked into his eyes, the pain there evident. “You’re hurting. I get that and I understand it as much as I can. Wanting a physical contact? I understand that too and I’m flattered. But, sir, this isn’t the way to do it. Can you see that? You’re not at your best. If you do this, it won’t end well and that? It’ll be a real shame, because I think you’re a great guy and it’d be my honor to know you better.” Jason dropped his hands, but didn’t break the gaze. “Really,” he said with all the sincerity he could muster.

Catalano stared for what seemed like an eternity, his alcohol-infused brain processing the words at a snail’s pace. Finally, a sigh went through him. He looked around as if he’d just discovered where he was. “Oh, God, I’m … sorry,” he murmured and stepped back. “Don’t know what …”

“How about I make some coffee and then, if you like, you could tell me about your wife,” Jason interjected, wanting to direct him away from the embarrassment. “She must’ve been a wonderful woman.”

A wave of emotions swept over Catalano’s face and for an instant, Jason thought he might cry. Then, inhaling sharply, he nodded.

Jason patted his arm. “Good.”

§ § §

Jason spent another five hours with Michael Catalano. He made coffee and, yes, listened for a while as the man talked about his wife, Melissa. That recounting veered off into the tale of Catalano’s struggle with being gay and that, well that tapered off into Catalano making several quick trips to the bathroom to vomit up the booze he’d consumed. After that, he was done, still drunk enough to murmur all kinds of crazy stuff, but so tired he drifted off in the middle of one such screed. Jason managed to get him situated on the couch, wedged on one side between several pillows to keep him from rolling onto his back and aspirating any further gore. Then, sitting in another chair, he stayed an extra hour to make sure the man was okay before he wiped down all the surfaces he’d touched, dimmed the lights, and let himself out of the house, locking the door behind.

It was almost dawn.

Back at his apartment, he went into his bathroom, stripped, and jumped into the shower. He was tired and now, thanks to Catalano, behind schedule. He had two fucking reports to write, one for his boss, Brian Brash, and the other for, ironically, Catalano. He also had a budget to update along with a myriad of other work-related tasks. Yes, tomorrow was Saturday and that gave him a little leeway, but the problem was the next thing he had to do would throw another wrench in that planning.

He had to call Conklin.

Drying off, Jason dressed in jeans and a shirt, padding barefoot into his kitchen to take leftover cold, fried chicken out of the refrigerator. He sliced a baguette and buttered a few slices, setting everything on the kitchen’s small table. Eating quickly, he tried to decide how to approach his real boss, but let’s face it, no matter how much he attempted to frame this episode as being anything other than a complete disaster that was somehow his fault, Conklin would have none of it. By now he knew that as if it were gospel ... because it was. With a sigh, he took a couple of Tylenol along with more water, then wiped his hands, leaving the remainder of his food to go find his phone. Might as well get this over with.

Jason dialed the number that would put him through to a secure line.

This, he knew, would be worse than Catalano.

§ § §

Alexander Conklin, who’d been transferred to the Berlin office around the same time Jason began to work for Vérité, didn’t make it to Paris for almost three hours, giving Jason time for a quick nap. The deputy director had one of the CIA’s jets at his disposal and even after their brief discussion on the phone, Conklin had been seething, so Jason knew what was coming. Still, the nap was one of the few good things that’d happened before this whole fucking mess began.

As he heard the sharp rap on his door, Jason took a deep breath and went to answer it. Opening the door, he stepped back at Conklin’s immediate glare. “What the hell did you do?” the man growled as he walked in, slamming the door behind. Thin, pale, his clothing wrinkled, Conklin always looked angry, worn out, searching for someone to blame. He advanced on Jason until they were almost nose-to-nose. “Everything was going so well, but you just had to fuck it up!”

Jason stood his ground, although he kept his tone as neutral as he possible. “No, sir, I didn’t. I went over to his house when I was invited by Mr. Catalano. I didn’t create this mess and I handled it as well as I could. Catalano was moving on me aggressively, but I defused the situation. I gave you all that information on the phone.”

“You have no idea how he’ll react once he has the weekend to think about the whole thing!” Conklin grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “You continue to be nothing but a fucking disaster, Jason. If you lose this gig, I swear to God I’m sending you back to New York for another go-round with Hirsch.”

That was an ugly threat. Conklin knew he’d rather take a bullet than go through that torture again. “I didn’t fuck anything up!” Jason said in a more aggressive tone. “You’ve read my reports. You told me I’d come up with solid intel and you told me you thought I was getting close to unmasking key elements in this whole thing. I didn’t cause this and it’s not right for you to threaten me when I did nothing to—”

With a vicious swing, Conklin backhanded him, a hard smack that would’ve knocked him to the floor if Conklin hadn’t grabbed him. “Shut up! I don’t want to hear it, Jason.” He gave him a shove. “Go make a pot of coffee. We’re in for a long morning.”

Shaking his head to clear his vision, Jason staggered back and rubbed his stinging cheek. For the millionth time, he wondered why he’d become entangled with Treadstone and the likes of Alexander Conklin, Ward Hirsch, and their ilk. None of them had a shred of decency. “Yes, sir,” he said with his first full breath and turned, heading for the kitchen. 

They talked for more than three hours. Really, of course, _Conklin_ talked and he listened. First, he was interrogated to within an inch of his life. The only missing item in this process was a tank of water and the two goons to throw him in. Conklin forced him to recount every moment leading up to his encounter with Catalano. Then they went through the meeting between the two, parsing every move, every word, every action. Jason had the misfortune of having an eidetic memory and Conklin, of course, knew that. After Conklin had the entire “visit” outlined in excruciating detail, he grilled Jason about his feelings. Did it shock him that Catalano touched him so intimately? Kissed him? Propositioned him? 

A bit later, Conklin expanded his questioning to ask Jason how he felt about homosexuality. Would knowing that about Catalano influence his future investigation? Had he ever had such an encounter prior to this event? Was he aware of the various ways in which two men made love?

Jason kept his answers terse and gave away as little as possible. Knowing Catalano was gay would have no influence on his activities at Vérité. He had no quarrel with gay men or women, nor trans folks. Yes, he’d fooled around with a kid in junior high, but he figured it wasn’t his thing and moved on. Then he looked Conklin in the eyes and laid out all the ways he knew that two men could make love including frottage, surprising Conklin with his specificity.

Conklin stared at him for a long instant. Finally, he inhaled. “All right, here’s what you’ll do. When you go into the office on Monday, you go about your business as usual. If you have to contact him for some reason, you do so, but otherwise, you let him make the first move.”

Jason nodded, not surprised. He’d thought the same thing.

“When he does approach you, whether it’s that day or several days later, you downplay the whole event and do everything you can to take away his discomfort.” Conklin crossed one leg over the other. “Then you flirt with him. Be subtle, but give him the signal that you’d like to take him up on his offer.”

Again, Jason wasn’t surprised. Being ordered to sleep with someone, gay or straight, was as much a part of the job as anything else. Still, it was a pretty fucked up thing to ask someone to do. “You want me to become his lover,” he said, a flat statement.

“Exactly.”

“What if I—?” 

“There’s no arguing, Jason. Give me a fucking break. You know that. You’ve been trained, you know you do what you’re told to do, so why in hell are you asking such a goddamn stupid question?”

“I’m the operative who washed out, right? I’m not working as an assassin because you couldn’t get me to that place. So you set me up as a spy.”

Conklin shrugged. “You were given another chance. You want to blow that too?”

“I sure as shit don’t want to be pimped out to Catalano because you think it’s what I need to do.” 

Conklin gave him a mocking smile. “Think of the upside. You’ll get lots of sex, as much as a goddamn sex-starved man in his fifties can provide, especially if he gets a supply of little blue pills.”

“Fuck you!” Jason said, teeth bared in the growl that emerged. “Just fuck—!”

With blinding speed, Conklin sprang off the couch and almost fell on top of him, hands around Jason’s neck as he pressed him back against the chair. “Now you listen to me,” he hissed, coffee-laced breath in his face. “This only goes one of two ways, Jason. You do as you’re told or I fucking give one of your fellow operatives the order to take you out. You’ve got a pretty sweet deal here and if sex with another man is the price you have to pay for that, you’ll do it with a smile in place and no complaint on your lips.” He gave Jason a nasty grin, moving his hands so that he was cupping Jason’s mouth. “You suck him off whenever he wants, hear me? Morning, noon or night you deep-throat him on request and lick up every last drop. You let him fuck you, standing, sitting, ass in the air, any way he likes and you _enjoy_ it, motherfucker. You moan and groan, you beg him to go deeper, you admire his huge dick. If I get any kind of shit from you, Jason, I’ll put you down in a fucking heartbeat, you understand?” He gave him a violent shake and then stepped back to glare down at him. “Are we clear?”

Jason didn’t break the gaze. “Yes, sir,” he whispered, tense and shaken. “Clear.”


	2. Chapter Two

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Two**

As he pushed open the front door of his apartment building, the bright sunlight hit Jason in the eyes so hard it made him gasp. Damn. The headache he’d had all weekend was getting worse. Walking down the street to where he’d parked his car, he wished he could play hooky from work like he used to as a kid from school, but, nope, not possible. After Conklin’s very on-point threat, he had to get his act together and keep it that way or things could get ugly fast. Today? He had to speak with Michael Catalano and it had to be everything Conklin said it should be. No misstep would be tolerated.

After a short walk, he slid behind the wheel of his car, trying to get his scrambled brain in gear. It didn’t help that he’d had three nights of bad sleep despite how tired he’d been. And when he wasn’t sleeping? A flashback episode had romped around his head followed by the headache from hell, the one that kept getting worse. When things went south, they did so with an unrelenting vengeance. 

This whole fucked up mess? He couldn’t believe how quickly everything had escalated. God, he hated it, but …

Starting up the car, he pulled out into traffic and headed for Vérité. At least, like a good bureaucrat, he’d gotten his reports done and the budget updated. He’d sent one to Catalano with a brief message and the other, along with the budget, to his boss at BC. Done.

Jason sighed and then did it again, still blinking in the sunlight. Where were his sunglasses? Nowhere to be found, of course. The reports and budget? Those were the easy things. Dealing with Catalano was going to be a fucked-up nightmare and right now he wasn’t up for it. 

His cell rang. As he came to a stop at the first light, he grabbed it. “Hello?”

“Hi, Jason, it’s Teri.”

Teri was his boss’s admin … his boss Brian Brash, the guy at BC who’d given him the Vérité contract job. God, he had a lot of bosses. “Hi, what’s up?” he asked as the light changed.

“He’s called a meeting for 9:00 and he wants you there.”

“Oh?” He felt a momentary stab of panic, wondering if Catalano had anything to do with that, but, no, that was doubtful. “About what?”

“Some new policies for all departments and a brainstorming session. He got your report and the budget update, so you’re good, but you better let Gerard know and get over here.”

“OK, Teri, thanks. Will do.” Clicking off the call, Jason had to think the timing couldn’t be worse. If he didn’t show up at Vérité and Catalano looked for him, what might he think? Damn, the more he thought about it, the more this whole thing seemed like something straight out of the high school from hell, the one where you ended up with a bullet in your head if you didn’t want to date the quarterback.

Turning left at the next intersection, Jason headed for BC, otherwise known as Brash Computers. He put in a quick call to Gerard, his second-in-command at Vérité, to let him know what was up. An American, like him, Gerard had an easy-going attitude that belied his strength and dedication, which he always attributed to his mama. “She’d whoop my ass if I did otherwise!” he’d said to Jason on many occasions, which always made him smile. They discussed the schedule for the day but, as usual, Gerard had everything in order. The guy was amazing and Jason has been letting everyone in both organizations know it, because he deserved a raise and a promotion. “Thanks, Gerard,” he said with as much warmth as he could summon. “I appreciate it.”

At BC, he sat in the company’s “all-glass conference room,” which is how he thought of it. The morning sun came streaming in and could be quite pleasant in the winter, but to someone with a headache? No fun. Squinting, he took notes as the meeting progressed and managed to give a coherent answer when Brian wanted him to update the other senior project managers. Still, the headache was brutal and it took every ounce of strength to fight it.

This whole existence still seemed weird to him. He’d started out in the Marines, then put on loan to the Army where he’d done stints with Special Forces and Delta Force, done two tours in Afghanistan, risen to the rank of captain, and then been recruited into Treadstone after 9/11. He’d expected to spend the rest of his life working for the CIA, tracking down bad guys, surveilling them, and, when ordered to do so, taking them out because they posed a significant threat to Americans. And yet, here he was, a businessman-slash-sleeper-agent in a nice suit discussing scheduling and timelines, resource allocations, project deliverables, quality assurance, and on and on. Not the language of Treadstone. Yes, with ruthless efficiency, he’d been schooled in all of it in a concentrated period of time until he had an excellent grasp of every aspect of the job. He’d worked at it back in the States for over two years, getting his feet wet as he had what they called a “meteoric rise” to his current senior position. Still, it was weird, all of it. For one thing, there was a gap in his memory a mile wide, one where a lot of those decisions must have been made. He couldn’t remember one of them. A bit scary, but the part about doing whatever Conklin told him to do always took precedent. That he understood.

As the meeting came to an end almost three hours later, Jason sat at the table massaging the space between his eyes as people hurried off to lunch. He’d declined several invitations because he needed to get over to Vérité, but he knew he had to make another stop at some point today because like the complete asshole it was, the headache was hanging around, stamping its feet, demanding attention.

“What’s wrong, Jason?” 

He turned around and saw that it was Teri. “Headache.”

She gave him an exaggerated frown. “Poor baby. Wants some aspirin?”

“It doesn’t seem to be helping. I need stronger meds.” He gave her a tight smile. “Have to call my doctor.”

“I’m so sorry.” A redhead with vivid blue eyes, Teri had always been a little flirtatious when he’d been in the office, something he’d been sorry he couldn’t, perhaps, move on. Of course, it wasn’t as if he had tons of experience being some kind of smooth operator. Shit, even the term seemed ridiculous. “Want me to give you a massage?” she asked and laid her hands on his shoulders before he could answer.

“Thanks, but I have to get to work.” He stood up, jamming pen and notebook into his bag. All he needed at the moment was a turn-on from a girl. Going headfirst into a sexual relationship with a man? That was a huge leap, but one that was out of his hands no matter how much it went against his natural desires ... if it did. Did it? Was he sure? After all, he’d had a pretty intense thing back in high school with David. Did that mean something? Shit, he didn’t know, he didn’t fucking know anything! Jason gave her what he hoped was a warm smile. “Thanks, Teri.”

Then he was gone.

§ § §

Jason went into Vérité and checked in with Gerard. Things onsite were going well, but he also learned something that was a big, huge, fucking relief: Michael Catalano had taken the day off. Something about a meeting he had to attend. Jason kept his face straight when he heard this, but he had a good idea that Catalano might have been nursing a massive, alcohol-fueled headache. That’s when he decided to leave early so he could stop at the safe house and get meds from Nicky. He texted her and she told him to come on over. In fact, she said she had something for _him._ What did that mean?

Two hours later, he parked his car close to the safe house, then crisscrossed a few streets to eventually wind up at the backdoor. It wasn’t protocol to be that allusive, but he did it without thinking. Up several flights of stairs, he walked into Treadstone’s Paris operation. “Hey,” he said when he saw Nicky working on something at her computer.

“Hi, Jason.” She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Got a bad one, huh?”

“I do.” He came over to sit in the chair next to her desk. “I try not to take the meds, but this one has been going on for three days.”

She made a face. “Ouch.” 

She’d cut her blonde hair and it now just touched her shoulders, but it still framed her face in an attractive manner. Yeah, she was a pretty young woman, but he had to leave it at that. Right now, he had other priorities. Besides, she’d never given him any sign that she was interested in him. Hell, Catalano was much more eager to get to “know” him than she was. “Yeah, it wasn’t my best weekend.”

“Job still going well?”

“We’re moving along at a rapid pace.” She didn’t know the details of what he was doing at Vérité, but she knew he had a different assignment than most of the men she monitored. They had jobs too, but their only true assignment was the one that came when someone needed to be taken out. Was he glad he didn’t have to do that? After the last few days, he had to wonder. “Uh, you said there was something else?” he asked as she handed him the bottle with the meds.

“Right.” She reached into a drawer, pulling out a big manila envelope that was sealed and had his name on it. With dismay, he recognized Conklin’s messy handwriting. “I had the extreme pleasure of Deputy Director Conklin’s visit this morning.” The cocked eyebrow and sarcastic tone said it all. She held out the envelope. “I have no idea what this is. He worked in his office for about an hour and then produced it. Said you had to get it today, so it was great that you texted when you did.”

He took the envelope. “Thanks.” Oh, shit, what new torture was this? Conklin loved to micromanage, so it could be just anything. “Did you, uh, ever get enrolled for that course you wanted to take?” he asked, trying to be sociable.

She brightened. “I did and it’s great. Thank you so much for the suggestion. Who knew programming could be so fascinating?”

She’d shown a lot of interest in working at an analyst, so he’d given her a couple of suggestions that’d push her resume more in that direction. “Good. Glad to hear it.” He stood up. “Thanks, Nicky. I’m going home, taking the meds, and hoping the headache lets me sleep.”

“Good luck!” she called as he headed for the door.

In his car, he tore open the envelope and pulled out what appeared to be a message from his boss, along with a couple of other sheets of paper and a photo. He looked at the picture first. Tall, good-looking guy with lots of curly hair dressed in tight jeans and a shirt that also seemed to be molded to his ripped form. The look in the man’s eyes seemed clear: “Want to fuck?” he was saying. His heart sank. Oh, shit. A hooker? Had Conklin found him?

With dismay, he read Conklin’s note. This guy—Graeme McKenna was his name—was someone the CIA used to teach straight operatives how to look and act gay enough to pass muster in any circumstance including the full-body contact one Jason faced. Barely breathing, he read the guy’s resume. He worked for the bureau in another capacity, but over the years had been dispatched to various corners of the world to help a floundering straight guy get his gay on.

He rubbed his throbbing temples. Shit, shit, shit.

As usual, Conklin minced no words: “Follow his instructions and do everything he tells you to do. Your work is vital. If you need to pass as gay, that’s what you’ll do. Don’t fuck it up, because if you do, I’ll find out.”

And the best news of all? McKenna would be at his apartment tonight at 6:00.

§ § §

Jason stopped at the grocery store down the street from his place and picked up a few items, unsure how much he’d be entertaining McKenna. As he put bottled water, crackers, cheese, and some fruit into his basket, the thought kept assailing him that maybe _he_ was the entertainment. Fuck! This whole thing was not the remedy for his headache. If anything, the idea of getting it on with a gay guy made his head hurt even more. Best of all? He couldn’t even take the meds he’d gotten, not when he had no idea how this thing would work. Sure, he’d been through far worst scenarios, but still …

Back in his apartment, he stowed everything in the kitchen, put the water in the refrigerator, and was thinking he still had time for a shower when someone knocked on the door. Fuck!

Loosening his tie, he went back into the living and opened the door.

McKinney was even better looking in person. Taller than Jason by a couple of inches. Dark hair cut kind of longish, but then, he didn’t have to worry about someone grabbing a handful at an inopportune moment. Older too, probably in his forties. “Hi,” Jason said when he realized he’d been staring. “Uh, Graeme McKenna?”

The guy had a great smile: warm and a touch mischievous. “That’s me. Jason Bourne?”

“Yes.” He held out a hand and they shook. “Come on in.” He ushered the guy into the living room, offered him a seat on the couch, then stood there like a dolt, stiff and uncomfortable. “Would you like something to drink … uh, non-alcoholic, I’m afraid.” 

Graeme wanted water, so Jason got two bottles, gave one to the man, then sat on the chair next to the couch. Looking at the man, he couldn’t believe this was about to take place. Thankfully, his training got him through just about anything, although … well, nothing like _this_ had ever happened. “Uh, how’d you get into this line of work?” he asked Graeme in what he hoped was a normal tone when he realized it was so quiet in the room.

“An operative needed to surveil a gay guy who liked to go clubbing,” Graeme answered, stretching out his legs as he recalled the details. “By clubbing, I mean all the time and with a lot of, uh, extracurricular activity all around the club. Someone in my office asked me about it and I told him the best way to get good intel would be to go in as gay and ...” He grinned at Jason, “… be available.” He shrugged. “Next thing I knew, I was training the guy.”

Another operative got the do-it-or-bullet-to-the-head treatment? Good to know. “Have there been a lot of assignments like that?”

“Not a lot. Sometimes, there’s nothing for a few years and then I’ll get one or two. I’ve done, hmm, maybe ten such trainings in the last eight years.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Depends. Some of the guys are hostile as hell, as if I was trying to destroy their masculinity. I’ve had to call in their handlers to get them straightened out. Believe me, on so many levels, no fun. Others did what they were told, although they didn’t like it and made sure I knew.” He smiled and Jason almost heard the words in McKenna’s head: “Which one are you?”

Jason took another drink of water unsure what to say.

“Jason?”

He looked over at the guy.

“You seem to be in pain. Is something wrong?”

The sympathetic tone took him by surprise. “I’ve got a bad headache. I’m … I don’t know if Conklin told you, but I’ve got PTSD and it decided to fuck with me this last weekend.”

“I’m sure all the new demands make it worse.”

Jason nodded.

“I might have something that’d help. I always bring muscle relaxants, so I …” Graeme reached for his backpack.

“I’ve got something, but didn’t think it’d be a good idea to take it,” Jason told him.

“Because of me?” Graeme straightened out, eyes widening. “Okay, let me tell you what I’d like to do. This is a multi-part training and can go on as long—or as short—as it’s needed. In your case, my goal is that we both get naked, so we can get that out of the way, and that we touch one another. That’s it. No sex of any kind, just, well, we’d be jumping in the shallow end of the pool and splashing around.”

Jason wasn’t sure if he liked that or not. It did sound like some tentative first steps, but the touching part? What the hell did that mean? 

“Given that you’ve got the headache, how about you take a warm shower, then take your meds. Meanwhile, I’ll lay down some towels on your bed and when you’re ready, give you a massage.” Graeme’s smile was disarming as hell. “Promise I won’t climb on you or otherwise molest you. Trying to teaching you the most effective gay sex positions doesn’t work well if the student is in pain. Besides, this gets me to my goals and hopefully, you’ll end up relaxed and can sleep.”

Jason had to admit that a massage sounded great. The naked part, not so much, but he’d been in many situations where he had to take off his clothes: shower or physical in the Army, changing in a locker room, being humiliated by Dr. Hirsch or during boot camp, take your pick. “Okay,” he said before he had more time to think about it. “That’s sounds … okay.”

§ § §

Jason took a hot shower that felt great, then stepped out, and dried off. The meds Nicky gave him were in his coat pocket, so he pulled out the bottle and popped one. Then, towel around his waist, he went down the hall to his bedroom where he’d left Graeme with an armful of towels.

Seated on his bed, towels now covering its surface, Graeme was naked. Smiling, he patted the spot next to him. “Lose the towel. Come on, I already know what’s underneath.”

Unsmiling, Jason dropped the towel on the floor and came to sit next to the man. It was awkward as hell. “Uh, this is weird.”

“Yeah, it is. Two strangers don’t usually strip first thing … unless they’re gay, of course.” Graeme touched Jason’s shoulder and then ran a hand down his arm, staring. “You are all kinds of ripped.”

“Requirement of the job,” Jason murmured, noting that Graeme’s touch was gentle, his hand warm. “It’s not as if you lack in that department.”

“I’m okay, but, shit, I can see why this unnamed guy is so hot for you. Damn, you’re gorgeous and I don’t just mean the bod.”

Such praise made him itch all over. Jason took a deep breath. Why had he joined Treadstone? This had _nothing_ to do with saving American lives. Of course, Hirsch had pounded it into his head that you “did what you had to do” to get the job done. This? It must fall under that rule, but let’s face it, it never would’ve occurred to him in a million years. 

Soon, he was on his stomach and Graeme was dripping massage oil onto his hands, except it wasn’t oil. “This is water-soluble,” he said as he rubbed the stuff between his hands. “No noticeable odor. It’ll dry, so you can feel free to sleep without taking another shower. Okay?”

“Yeah.” He braced for the first touch.

Graeme’s hands fell on his shoulders. “God, you’re tense. Listen, Jason, one of the things the deputy director told me was not to startle you by making any quick moves. When I asked him why, he said if you were triggered, you could put me on the floor before I knew what was happening. I laughed because I’d seen a photo of you and knew I was taller, but he said you have skills like I’ve never seen nor want to experience.” He chuckled. “So, I’m thinking I need to behave myself.”

Jason made an attempt to relax. “Okay, point taken.”

“Just consider it a good part of this whole thing.”

Graeme worked on his shoulders and down his back, his big hands gentle yet firm as he kneaded out the knotted muscles one by one. He moved down to Jason’s legs, but gave his ass a firm pat before he did. “Also nice,” he murmured, but moved on. By the time he’d worked on both legs, Jason was feeling the effects of the meds as well as what the massage was doing. That’s when Graeme told him to turn over.

Not exactly embarrassed, but uncomfortable, Jason complied. He looked up at the man seated next to him and their gaze locked. That’s when he opened his mouth to say something, but Graeme was quicker. He bent down and kissed Jason, his lips soft, but insistent, no tongue involved … several times. Then he patted his cheek and began to massage his shoulders and arms, headed south, relaxed and focused. “Don’t tense up on me. I’m a man of my word,” Graeme said and took a fleeting moment to run his hand over Jason’s dick, stroking as if he’d discovered something beautiful.

Despite himself, Jason reacted to the touch, groaning as he was gripped by an almost-forgotten pleasure. He also had the opposite reaction, tightening all over.

Graeme moved down to his legs, using the oil to massage his thighs. “Deputy Director Conklin mentioned that there was a guy in high school you did stuff with,” he murmured. “What was his name?”

“David.”

“Did you guys do what I just started to do? Jerk each other off?”

Jason bit his lip, the intense pleasure subsiding as he considered his answer. “Yes, sometimes, but there wasn’t much to it. He was … a kid I felt sorry for. In junior high.”

“So you defended him?”

“Yeah. Taught him how to fight.”

Graeme had moved to his other leg. “Did that work?”

Jason licked his lower lip. “We got beat up once, but by the second time they came after him, we were ready,” he murmured as he felt the drowsiness grip him. “We beat the shit out of them and after that? They left him alone.”

“Did that lead to the two of you becoming, uh, friendlier?”

Jason sighed, closing his eyes as he remembered David’s face. “He was in love with me. I-I liked him a lot, but as a friend. We lived in the middle of God’s country, Nixa, Missouri, so the idea of gay sex was almost as bad as sleeping with the devil.”

“I’m familiar with the concept.”

“I was persuaded to fool around with him because he was so desperate for male companionship.”

“But you didn’t like it?”

Jason had to think that one through. “I found it … weird, but, yeah, it was enjoyable, I have to admit. However, I was also nervous because we were experimenting in his bedroom and there was always the chance we’d be caught. So it was the most fun when David’s mom wasn’t home. Overall, it didn’t go well and I had to push back against the idea.” God, that’d been so hard. David had been devastated. “He, uh, last I heard, he was living in San Francisco and had gotten married.”

“Good for him.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say he was entirely wrong about you, Jason.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve taken all of this remarkably well. Maybe you’re bi-curious or more. You could just be disciplined at doing what you’re ordered to do, but at least you haven’t given me a black eye or thrown me on my ass.” He patted Jason’s thigh. “Actually? You’re doing great!”

Jason’s eyes widened. Oh, shit. 

Is that what he wanted? To succeed at this? 

Somehow, that seemed alarming as hell.


	3. Chapter Three

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Three**

The next morning, Jason’s eyes fluttered open and the first thing he saw was Graeme crouched next to the bed, two cups of coffee in hand. He gave Jason a cheesy grin as he held out one cup. “Good morning.”

He was fully dressed, but Jason? Yeah, he was still naked, although thank the gods he had a sheet wrapped around him. “Good morning,” he mumbled as sleep-infused memories clouded his brain. How long would he have to put up with this dude, the guy who wanted to grab and grope? “What time is it?” he asked as he sat up in bed, legs yoga style. He took the cup of coffee offered. “Thanks.”

“It’s seven. I figured I better wake you. You slept like a log last night.”

Jason took a grateful sip of the coffee, surprised to find that it’d been sweetened. How’d he know that? “I believe it. I was _out_.” He looked over at the man, seeing his amused expression. “Where’d you sleep?” he asked, hoping Graeme would say the couch.

“With you.” Graeme cocked an eyebrow. “I spooned you. Very comfortable.” Then that melted away and he frowned. “You have a lot of scars on your back, Jason. What the hell?”

Jason shrugged. “Training.”

“In New York? Shit, doesn’t sound like fun.”

“It wasn’t.” Sooner or later, Graeme was going to get on his nerves. This morning? Well, the headache was gone and he felt good. This time? He’d give him a pass. “So now what?” he asked and then took another long sip of the dark brew.

“Now you call and let me know when you’re next available. If this guy is hot to trot, you probably don’t have that much time.”

Jason wondered once again what Catalano would say when they encountered one another. Would he even remember how close he’d come to sexual assault? Not that he would’ve let him, but taking any aggressive action might have given him away since those skills took him well out of the amateur level. “Okay,” he said to Graeme. “I have to talk to … to Mr. X first.” He wasn’t supposed to tell Graeme anything about Michael.

“Mr. X. I like that. Okay, well try to get Mr. X to keep his dick in his pants so we can get you more up to speed, although …” He gave Jason a naughty grin, “Thanks to your friend, David, I think you already understand the basics and even if you don’t, you have a healthy respect for LGBTQ folk.” He patted Jason’s cheek, then stood up. “I’ll let myself out.”

“OK. Thanks, Graeme.” Jason listened to the man’s footsteps and, a moment later, the door opened, then closed. He blew out air. Damn, was this really his life? It was one thing to be fooling around in his bedroom with David when he was fifteen. This as part of his job as senior project-manager/sleeper-agent … well, that was so fucking strange that it was ludicrous. And that he had to get good at gay sex? That was nuts.

Jason threw back the covers and got out of bed, chugging the remnants of the coffee, then heading for the bathroom. Better get it in gear. Gay sex training or no gay sex training, he still had a job to get to.

§ § §

As Michael knotted his tie, he went over the difficult situation he found himself in and how he’d handle it. He had to get to the office and, yes, he also had to somehow address what’d happened Friday night with Jason Bourne. He took a deep breath. So ... what were his options? Once again, he ticked off the choices. Do nothing, i.e., pretend that it didn’t happen? Was that his best choice? Jason, surely, would never bring it up on his own. Yes, he had a senior position among the contractors working in Vérité, but he knew he didn’t wield enough power to go up against the CEO, especially over something that’d sound absurd. No one would believe he’d made a drunken pass at the young man, right? It’d seem outside the realm of possibilities. Maybe that would work best.

Michael sighed, standing straighter. Okay, second choice: address the incident on Friday night, but do it sheltered behind his authority as Jason’s boss, which meant he’d be businesslike and abrupt, an “end of discussion” conversation. That would keep it short and sweet, which he liked, but was it the best way to handle the problem? It’d alienate Jason and that could spill over into their business relationship, which had been perfect up until now. He didn’t want that to happen. Hell, sex notwithstanding, he liked the guy and had always enjoyed his company. Now he’d jeopardized that and this solution? It’d make it worse.

Which brought him to the third choice: address the incident and do it with all the honesty and humility he could muster. Standing in front of his mirror, Michael looked into his eyes. Tough call, that last one. Jason was, what? Almost twenty years younger than him. “God, he could be my son,” Michael thought for about the hundredth time. Was he a pervert? In all honesty, he knew that the intense desire he’d felt hadn’t dimmed in the last three days, that he still wanted a long, sustained night of fucking that beautiful young man … many different ways in many different positions. In his imagination, Jason moaned beneath him, eyes shut, clawing at the sheets as Michael pushed into him. God! Michael shook his head, trying to ignore the erection that image brought. Even worse, he’d been so goddamn drunk, he didn’t remember how the whole thing went down. He’d come to on Saturday morning around four or five, lying on the couch. Jason was gone. Trouble was, Jason _did_ remember and could no doubt describe it to him in lurid detail. 

Checking his hair, Michael grabbed his suit coat and slipped it on. Okay, time to settle on his game plan. This wasn’t a crisis. Couldn’t be. If Jason had wanted to complain, he would’ve done it already, because the young man was decisive and fearless. God knows, it was one of the qualities that had been so attractive to Michael. He took a deep breath, lowered his head, tapping his foot. There were at least a dozen other things pressing on him for answers, but each one was blocked by this potential disaster, one that might hit him on both the personal and professional level. With that, he nodded and grabbed his cell phone, dialing Jason’s number as he took a deep breath

“Hello?” Jason answered, his voice neutral. 

“Good morning, Jason,” Michael said with his own careful tone. “I need a word.”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Could you meet me at the _Parc de Belleville_ in about thirty minutes? I’ll bring coffee and something to go with it.”

“Yes, sir, of course. At the front of the park?”

“That’s fine. Thank you, Jason. See you then.” Michael clicked off. Damn! Even hearing his voice stirred feelings in him that had no business existing, especially with someone who worked for him. What the hell kind of an asshole was he? He’d probably already sexually assaulted his employee in some way, shape, or form, or at least tried to. Okay, calm down. Technically, Jason worked for BC, the contractors they’d hired to set up the banks of servers, mainframe computers, and even a series of supercomputers. Still, there was something so compelling about Jason, something he couldn’t quite define and he’d let it get to him. Yes, he was beautiful in form and deportment, but there was more to it than that, so much more. He was whip smart, a man of his word, well-mannered, even funny, but there was also a sadness about him, one Michael knew well.

Giving his head a firm shake, he grabbed his briefcase, set the house alarm, and walked out the door, locking it behind. An instant later, he was in his car, headed for the park, which was about twenty minutes away. He’d get the coffee and such from a little pastry shop close by. 

He still had no idea what’d set him off that night. Yes, on occasion he enjoyed a glass of wine or bourbon over ice. That night, though, he’d started thinking about Melissa and that? He knew it was never a good road to go down, especially on the thirteenth anniversary of her death and his ... Stop! Don’t even think it! Soon, one drink had led to several and his loneliness, which was never far away, had crept closer, offering suggestions he should’ve ignored. Jason had been one of those suggestions … the most tantalizing one. Thoughts of undressing and touching the young man’s beautiful body had consumed him.

Yeah, it was true. At age fifty-three, he was a dirty old man.

Michael could still remember the first time he’d seen Jason. Their building had still been a complete mess. Even the lobby had brown paper overlaying the costly marble floor underneath. Jason had arrived with his boss, Brian Brash, and Michael had both been struck not only by the young man’s physical beauty, but by his obvious intelligence, his energy, his humility. They’d sat down in the first-floor conference room over a catered lunch along with two of Michael’s senior people. Even to this day, he felt as if Jason stood out like a fresh, lit-up Christmas tree in a room filled with shriveled brush. No, he didn’t dominate the conversation, he always let his boss speak unless he was asked to explain something, but he had a presence about him, a way of making his point that made people take notice. God knows, Michael had. After that? There’d been no one else he wanted to hire. Which, of course, led straight to this moment. 

With a sigh, his phone rang and Michael was back to reality. Time to get the day in gear and that meant the first order of business: makes things right with Jason Bourne. Somehow.

§ § §

Jason saw Catalano long before the man saw him, tightening all over. Oh, shit, it was on. He’d been struggling all the way over here, trying to figure out a proper expression. If he frowned, it might seem as if he’d already passed judgment. On the other hand, if he got all smiley, he’d send a different message, one that might be misinterpreted. It needed to be somewhere between those two. And, yes, this had to somehow end by encouraging Catalano to continue the seduction. Damn. He’s spent months in the hellhole that was Dr. Hirsch’s “training” center, but no one ever prepared him for this.

“Good morning, Jason,” Catalano said as Jason stood up.

“Good morning, sir.” He took the coffee offered. “Thank you.”

“Sure. Let’s sit.” Catalano sat down on the bench and set the white paper bag he carried between them. “I got a few chocolate tartlets, some chocolate macaroons, and two napoleons also, which I love. I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

“Pretty much everything,” Jason said, giving him a smile that wasn’t too bright. He wasn’t hungry at all, but dipped a hand into the bag and took a chocolate tartlet. “Thank you, sir,” he said before he took a bite, hoping he was telegraphing the coming forgiveness.

“You’re welcome. Uh, well, I wanted to talk to you about … well, about last Friday evening.”

“Yes, sir.” Jason took one of the napkins in the bag and laid his tartlet on it, licking his fingers as he did.

“I … I’m embarrassed. I—” Catalano said just then. 

“Oh, sir, no, you don’t have to be—” Jason broke in, looking up in time to see the man’s anguished expression.

“Please, let me, uh, finish.”

“Yes, sir, but I just wanted you to know—”

“Jason!” Catalano snapped in a tone somewhere between panic and agitation. “Please, would you let me talk?”

Oh, fuck. He was already freaking out. Not good. Jason bit his inner lip, then nodded.

“Thank you.” The man took a deep breath and appeared to regain his calm. He gave Jason a crooked smile. “Sorry. This has been weighing on me and I want to get it out.”

Jason said nothing.

Catalano took another deep breath. “I’m embarrassed about what happened and that? Well, I don’t even know all of it because I was so drunk. I believe I told you it was the anniversary of my wife’s death, which may have seemed strange given that I appeared to want something deeper than friendship with you.”

Jason bit on his inner lip again, still not speaking.

Catalano took another deep breath. “I don’t know if you can relate, Jason, but my feelings about that anniversary and the, well, the sense of loneliness I feel came together that night. Fueled by the alcohol excess, I said things I should not have said … at least I think I did. I have no memory of what went on after we …” The man’s gaze dropped as he appeared to stop breathing “… left my bedroom.”

Oh, God, he remembered that part. Jason did his best to look sympathetic.

“Anyway, I wanted to apologize for everything that happened, including that. I had no right to make such demands of you. I hope there wasn’t more craziness after that because …” He ran a hand through his hair and Jason saw a number of emotions flash across his face. Then confusion took hold of his expression. “When did you leave?”

“Well, I—”

“I remember running to the bathroom to throw up and you were nowhere to be found.”

“No, sir, I was there. I—”

Catalano’s expression darkened. “I can understand how you might be upset about the whole thing, but when someone is incapacitated like that, wouldn’t you’d—?”

Alarmed, Jason saw the whole thing going south. “No, that’s not true!”

Eyes flashing with anger, Catalano cut him off again. “I remember that part, Jason. I was so miserable from the alcohol poisoning, which was my own stupid fault, but for you to take that moment to walk out on me was—”

“No, sir!” Jason said in a forceful tone. “That’s wrong. Dead wrong. I was there the whole time.”

“That’s a lie!” Catalano exploded. “I didn’t see you!”

“Nonetheless, I was there,” Jason said, meeting him word for word. “You were too busy dealing with your problem. I monitored all the vomiting. You must’ve gone back to that bathroom three or four times, but even so, when you returned, you were still pretty drunk. You sat with me and we talked. I made coffee for you.”

Catalano looked confused, the color rising in his cheeks. “I don’t remember anything like that.”

“No, sir, you wouldn’t. You did a lot of drinking and even though you brought up a lot of it, there was still enough in your bloodstream to mess with your mind. You were …” Jason hesitated, wondering if he was going too far. “Sir? You were grieving. And that pain? It wasn’t dulled by all the liquor.”

Catalano’s gaze met his and for a long moment they stared at one another. Then the man seemed to relax. “Oh, God. I’m just making it worse. Me and my damn temper. I apologize. I guess … yes, everything that happened and the reasons it happened took a heavy toll on me. I’m sorry you were part of that.”

Jason saw the opening. Taking several deep breaths, he said nothing, letting his own attitude soften. “Sir? If you don’t mind me saying so, I’m not sorry, not at all. I’ve always felt as if … well, this will sound weird, but I felt as if we had things in common. Like the loneliness you talked about. I didn’t … I’ve never been married and haven’t had a significant relationship, but I can understand how devastating that must have been, losing your wife, I mean. I lost my mom and grandmother when I was still pretty young and that? Well, it was hard.”

Catalano relaxed, sipping the coffee he’d set aside. “I didn’t know. What about your dad?”

“He died in Vietnam. I decided to go into the Army based on his heroism, but even though that was a good decision in a lot of ways, it didn’t bring me one thing I needed the most.”

“What was that?” Catalano asked, mesmerized by Jason’s words.

Jason grimaced. “A family. People who care.”

“Ah.” The man continued to stare. “You’re lonely too.”

“Yes, sir.”

Catalano dropped his gaze, staring at the ground, then drinking coffee. “I … are we good?”

“Yes, sir, we are. I wasn’t offended at all. We all have moments like that.”

Catalano nodded. “Good. Okay, uh, I’d like to make it up to you—” He held up a hand, palm toward Jason. “Oh, and please don’t tell me that’s not necessary.”

Jason gave him a soft smile, but didn’t speak.

“I’m thinking inviting you over for dinner might not be the best idea right now, but tell me something. How do you feel about hiking?”

Jason wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly. “Hiking? You mean, backpack, walking along a trail, looking at the great outdoors?” 

“Yes.”

“Well, I did a lot of hiking when I was in the Army, but I don’t think you’re talking about that kind.”

“Are you familiar with the _Fontainebleau forest_?”

“I’ve heard of it, but haven’t been there. I do a lot of running, but that’s mostly right around where I live.”

Catalano took a deep breath. “Well, could I interest you in a hike? Perhaps this weekend? Depending on the route we take, it could last between two to four hours.” Catalano raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you’ll still be going strong when I want to go home.”

Jason smiled. Perfect. There’d be no repeating the temptations Catalano had given into if they were out in public. That’s why he’d made the suggestion. “You look like you’re in pretty good shape, sir, so I’m not counting on that.”

Catalano’s smile widened. “So you’re in? You’ll do it?”

“Yes, sir, it sounds like fun.” Jason picked up his tartlet and took another bite, suddenly hungry. “What should I bring?”

“Let me pack a lunch for us. You could bring some extra water, which we’ll probably need.”

“I’ll bring dessert,” Jason said, inspired. “I have a great recipe from my mom for snickerdoodles. I’m not such a great cook, but my mom taught me how to bake.”

Catalano laughed. “That’s perfect! Okay, it’s a date. I’ll text you when I have more of an idea what works better, Saturday or Sunday.” He checked his watch. “I’m going to be late if I don’t leave now. Sorry to exit so abruptly.”

Jason stood up when Catalano did. “I understand. I think I’ll sit here and finish my breakfast.” He held up the pastry, but was also letting the man know he understood they needed to be discreet. Showing up at the same time might not look good.

“Thank you, Jason.” Catalano held out a hand, his tone warm.

Jason took the hand and they shook. “You’re welcome, sir. And thank you.” He watched as Catalano turned and walked away. Okay, good. This was all good. They’d soon be having their first date and meanwhile? Jason swallowed. Meanwhile, he had to become an expert in gay sex.

Shit.


	4. Chapter Four

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Four**

As he sat listening to the bullshit coming at him, Conklin shifted the phone’s receiver from his left to his right hand, then pressed it against his ear. Abbott, as usual, was making it clear who the fucking boss was in this so-called relationship by lecturing him every time they talked. “Has he made progress?” the man demanded in his abrupt fashion as he broke off the ten-minute diatribe.

“Nothing definitive, but they’re still settling into the new building so things have been chaotic.”

“We didn’t train him to be a fucking project manager so he’d have job security in Paris,” Abbot shot back, his tone a nasty sneer. “I need goddamn results, Alex, and you know that.”

“If he’s pushed too hard, the risk of exposure increases. You know that. Besides, this new wrinkle could be significant.”

Abbott snorted. “Bourne going queer? That should be fun.”

“I don’t know about fun, but I do know that lovers often share secrets.”

Abbott, of course, wasn’t convinced. “So he’ll do what? Ask Catalano if he’s _really_ the guy running Infernum right after he’s given him head? I’m sure the son of a bitch will just blurt out everything!”

“You know damn well that’s not how it works,” Conklin shot back, annoyed and not hiding it. “Jason might have more access both at the office and in Catalano’s home. If things go as planned, he would come to trust Jason and that might work to his advantage. We have to make some headway on this and you know that as well as I do. If Catalano is either running Infernum, or about to accept that position, God only knows what he might be planning.”

“Given that maybe he had daddy dearest murdered, it could be almost anything.”

President Charles Catalano’s murder just short of his first year in office had shocked the world, yet the hunt for the assassin had produced precious little. His only son, Michael, had been the sympathetic former governor of Massachusetts who’d walked his family through the ensuing state funeral and burial of a man who’d been a saint to his Republican supporters, but a problem for those who’d found his policies too extreme. At some point after that, the intelligence community began to consider the possibility that Michael was not, in fact, so innocent. When Catalano set up Vérité in Paris, that’s when the CIA and all their formidable skills came into play. “Uh, Jason did tell me that it looks like they have the software onsite, although he doesn’t yet know where.”

Abbott made a hissing sound of derision. “I still maintain the whole software that protects any system from hacking is nothing but a bullshit way to give them cover.”

“Hopefully, we’ll see, since by default Jason would have to be involved in loading it onto the systems once they’re up and running.”

“Hmm.” 

Abbott wasn’t about to give him anything, so Conklin decided to move on to the other issue, one he knew made Abbott jittery. “Have you given any thought to what we’ll do if he’s—?”

“No, don’t even say that,” Abbott cut in. “Nothing like that will happen.”

“But it’s possible that he’d—”

“It’s _not_ possible, Alex, and you know it. We gave that a lot of thought. We planned for every contingency.”

“You can’t be one-hundred percent certain—”

“Enough! I don’t want to discuss it!”

“We’re on a secure line,” Conklin protested.

“Tell me what you’re hearing from McKenna,” Abbott snapped.

The guy was a fucking perv. He’d never admit it, but he was getting off on hearing about the gay teacher’s sessions with Jason. Conklin sighed. “Okay, but there isn’t a lot new to report. Jason will meet with the man tonight for their second session.”

“And what does he have planned for that meeting?”

Although there was no evidence to support it, Conklin was convinced that Abbot had a gay streak a mile wide. He’d _love_ being the guy who did all those nasty things to Jason. “Well, I hear that sex is definitely on the table,” Conklin began, deciding to feed the man’s perversity. “Let me tell you what he has in mind.”

§ § §

When he heard the knock, Jason was ready. Not happy, still, at this thing being forced on him, but at this point all he could do was grit his teeth and make the best of it. There was nothing else to be done, so … Jason strode to the front door and, stiff and anxious, yanked it open.

Graeme took a step back, eyes widening. “Hey.” This time, _he_ had a suit on, a dark grey one with a multi-colored tie. With his hazel eyes and high cheek bones, Graeme was a looker to be sure. “Brought dinner,” he said now as he walked in, closing the door behind as he displayed the bag he carried.

Jason noticed the restaurant’s name. “You bought it from there?” he asked, gesturing at the bag. “Wow. Pretty high-class.”

“Nothing’s too good for my boyfriend.” Graeme had a twinkle in his eye as he set the bag on the floor. “Okay, first order of business. From now on, we interact as if we’re lovers. Two gay guys who are hot for one another.”

“Okay,” Jason said, not sure what that meant.

With a smile, Graeme stepped closer, sliding both arms around Jason’s shoulders and drawing him close. “Hi,” he said in a soft voice, then his lips closed over Jason’s and he was kissing him, each kiss firmer than the last.

With dutiful obedience, Jason wrapped his arms around Graeme’s waist as he returned the kisses, awkward at first, especially when Graeme’s talented tongue joined the fun, but as the man rubbed his crotch against Jason’s, it developed into an erotic moment he couldn’t help but enjoy. 

Graeme pulled back. “Hmm, someone is revved up and ready to go,” he said as he cupped Jason through his jeans.

Not having sex with an actual human for months on end was working in Jason’s favor. As Graeme rubbed, the pleasure, hot and sweet, continued to build. It was all Jason could do to keep from groaning. “I forgot how different kissing a guy could be,” he managed to say, a bit breathless, as they separated, disappointed, but glad, like an inexperienced thirteen-year-old, that he wouldn’t disgrace himself so early in the night. As Graeme picked up the food, Jason turned, walking toward the kitchen.

“You mean the scratchiness?” Graeme asked behind him.

“Exactly.”

“Beards are better.”

“I can imagine.”

They sat down to a meal of spaghetti with meatballs that included a green salad and garlic bread, more than enough food for two hungry guys. Jason, in fact, realized that he _was_ hungry, which meant he wasn’t as nervous as he’d been the last time. Having a bit of past gay experience, even as a stupid teenager, might be helping, although he’d done that with the same reluctance he felt now, so ... 

“Hey, where do you work out?” Graeme asked after a few minutes of silent munching. 

Jason took a long pull on his water bottle. “Midtown. It’s a few blocks from here. They have a boxing room I like to use.”

“Given the shape you’re in, I’d like to give it a try. Can I get a few complimentary passes?”

Jason nodded. “I know the owner. Sure. I’ll ask him tomorrow.”

“You go every day?”

Jason wiped his mouth. “Pretty much. It’s how I was programmed, so if I don’t go, I’m uneasy.”

“Wow, so gym and what else?”

“I run and—” He gestured toward the hallway that led back to his bedroom and the room next to it, “use the equipment here.”

“Damn, that’s crazy. You _were_ programmed.”

Jason shrugged and continued with his meal. One of the things he got from that exchange, though, was that Graeme must be staying in the area. That was something to tuck away, a bit of pertinent info. He wasn’t supposed to know anything about Catalano, but it’d be easy for him to follow Jason to Vérité. He took a different route every day, but still, Conklin wouldn’t like that.

“Uh, what was that training like?” Graeme asked after a moment. He shrugged when he saw Jason’s expression. “People talk and you do have a lot of scars.”

Jason took a long sip of water. “Not something I want to get into,” he said, hoping Graeme would drop it. “It wasn’t pleasant.”

“Kind of like boot camp?”

“Yeah, but more personalized for me.”

“Wow.” Graeme sat back in his chair and stared at Jason. “How old are you? Twenty-eight?”

“Thirty-two.”

“It’s the baby face.”

“Yeah.”

Graeme slide a hand across the table to grasped Jason’s, fingers pressed tight. “Let’s talk something pleasant. Tonight I’d like to get into the sex, but focus that on blow jobs. Your potential boyfriend will appreciate that, especially since some older gay men have trouble getting an erection. Being a BJ expert will help.”

“Okay,” Jason said, pushing aside his own anxiety at the idea. After all, this was something he’d done before, even if it’d only been a few times. He was fine with taking it slow and given that his first “date” with Catalano was still three days away, they needed to exercise wisdom in using their time. As they finished their meal, he arose, taking plates, silverware, empty water bottles, setting everything on the counter as Graeme did the same. After a moment of this activity, though, Graeme grabbed his waist, whirling him around as he took him into an embrace.

“Hmm,” he murmured as he kissed Jason hard on the mouth, backing him up until he was pinned against the wall. As he continued to kiss him, he pulled up Jason’s shirt so he could run his free hand across his chest, tweaking his nipples, then roving downward to his stomach, around his waist, up his back, everywhere he could reach, his fingers scratching, tickling, rubbing in a pleasant way that rapidly became hot, then hotter. Finally, he unbuckled Jason’s belt, then unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pushing them down until gravity did the rest. 

Jason couldn’t suppress the moan that rose to his lips when Graeme pushed his hand down his boxer briefs and grasped his dick. With the kisses still coming hot and fast, Graeme managed a series of delightful strokes while Jason’s underwear joined his jeans. That’s when Graeme dropped to his knees. “Okay, now I want you to pay as much attention as you can, although I know it’ll be hard,” he said as he took Jason’s cock in hand. Then it went into his mouth, Graeme slurping as if it was a tasty lollipop.

Eyes closed, Jason wrapped a hand around the countertop as Graeme released him, then did it again, using lots of spit. 

The feeling was intense and wonderful in a way few things were. Jason gasped again, trying to suppress the moans, but not having much luck.

“We’ll go over this,” Graeme said when he’d released him again. “Right now, I’m getting you as slippery as possible.” He wrapped one hand around the base of Jason’s dick. “Oh, and aren’t you a pretty one,” he crooned just before he took Jason back into his mouth and began to suck, not too hard, but not too soft either.

Jason grasped the countertop so hard he thought he might break a finger, fighting to keep the moans contained as the hot pleasure held him tight.

After that, it accelerated at a rapid pace. Graeme kept sucking and stroking, talking dirty one moment, crooning the next, hands and mouth all over Jason as he created a frenzy no one could resist. As that tension escalated, Jason transferred his grip to Graeme’s hair, hanging on for dear life, growing rigid as that one insane focal point demanded all his attention.

He groaned, loud and long, thrusting his hips as Graeme worked his magic. Raising his head, he sucked in gulps of air, crazy, irrational words slipping free as the tension built.

Then in one quick move, Jason shot his load. It felt so good he wanted to raise his head and scream like a banshee, howling into the wind. He managed to contain himself, though his breathing grew labored and he made appreciative gasps well after the orgasm ended. 

Graeme? He swallowed, making his own happy sound and then detached himself, standing up to take Jason into a tight embrace as he kissed him all over, hard. “Oh, baby, baby,” he kept murmuring as he did.

Jason groaned as the man’s tongue went into his mouth, as he tasted the remnants of himself. “Oh, God—God,” he moaned, unable to control what he said as he returned the kisses. 

Graeme laughed. “Okay, I’m thinking you liked that. Let’s get some water and retire to the living room where I’ll break down what I did.”

Jason nodded, still so overcome he was having trouble speaking. This? It had become awesome. Would it stay that way? Probably not. Few things ever did. However, for the moment? Yeah, it was fantastic.

§ § §

In the living room, they threw all the blankets and pillows they could find onto the floor and camped out, listening to smooth jazz as they ate a few of the chocolates Graeme brought. Jason took off his shoes and socks, but kept the half-naked look, which prompted Graeme to shimmy out of _his_ pants, underwear, socks, and shoes. They talked, dissecting the blow job … which was strange, to say the least. Some of what Graeme said seemed obvious: don’t do too much teasing; use spit to get the dick wet; hold the base of the cock while you stimulate the head, moving lips and hand in tandem. All stuff he knew, but it was good to hear again.

“Guys like their balls sucked?” Jason asked when Graeme brought that up. “Never heard of that.”

“Well, you and David were just kids, right? I’m thinking you didn’t have a lot of information available. It was right when smart phones and the Internet were starting.”

“Yeah, it was. Good point.” Jason took another chocolate, biting into it, surprised to discover some kind of brittle inside. “And the same with the frenulum?”

“Yes and that makes a lot of sense. The underside of your dick is pretty sensitive, right?”

“True.” Licking his fingers, Jason laid his head against the couch. “This all seems weird as fuck.”

“Sitting around half-naked discussing sex techniques? Yeah, it is. Imagine my first time doing it.”

Jason laughed. “It must’ve been awkward.”

“It was. And that first guy was as homophobic as they come.” Graeme rolled his eyes. “He nearly killed me when I touched him and I was nowhere near his junk!”

That made Jason grin. “So did he knock you on your ass?”

“No way. This guy wasn’t Jason Bourne—not at all.” Graeme selected his own piece of candy. “Anyway, here’s how I thought we’d go forward. You take all my fabulous teaching and give me a blow-job that’ll knock my socks off … if I was wearing socks.” He wiggled his toes. “After that, we’ll eat more candy and then go take a shower together where I’ll show you the finer points of doing it under running water by doing you again.”

Jason couldn’t believe he had another glorious orgasm to look forward to. As for _giving_ a BJ, he felt certain he could do it well enough to curry favor with his teacher. And, yes, a little part of his brain noted how his attitude had improved. Was it the recent blow job that’d done that? “Sounds good,” he said when he realized Graeme was waiting for an answer.

“Once we’ve gotten that far, we’ll be ready for bed.” Graeme gave him a mischievous look. “After I have you spooned, I’ll be explaining our next lesson plan just before we drift off to sleep.”

Jason worked his mouth, trying not to look dismayed. “Butt sex?”

“Exactly. Which you tried with David, but didn’t have much luck.”

“I didn’t.”

Graeme reached out and patted his cheek. “Well, don’t worry my neophyte gay guy. I’ll teach you how to give and receive. Trust me, both can be a lot of fun.”

Jason wasn’t sure he believed that. Yeah, it felt good when someone used a finger or a butt plug, but a full-on dick? “You think Mr. X, my older gay man, will want me fucking him?”

“He might. I’m assuming since he’s been in the closet, he’s missed out on a lot, but done a lot of fantasizing, so he might want to cover it all, especially if he’s got a young stud at his disposal.”

“Shit,” Jason murmured, then he was moving closer to Graeme, taking him into a tight embrace and kissing him over and over again. Might as well get on with it. There wasn’t any other way forward and he hated waiting around, nervous, anticipating something like this.

As they kissed, Graeme growled against his mouth. “Do it,” he whispered. “Please, Jason. Now.”

Jason moved back, giving him a look. The guy’s cock was already coming to attention. “Lay down, Graeme,” he said in the same commanding tone, “and pull up your legs.”

Graeme did as he was told, a cheesy grin in place.

Then Jason began.


	5. Chapter Five

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Five**

That Saturday, after Jason packed the Snickerdoodles he’d made, along with bottles of water, an extra pair of socks, a med kit, a Swiss Army knife, trail mix, granola bars, candy, and a few other items, he set out to hike with Michael Catalano. At 7:00 a.m. he met Michael at a nearby carpark and together they drove the 67 kilometers to the _Fontainebleau forest._ Michael had once again brought coffee as well as plain and chocolate croissants, so they spent the first twenty minutes on the road eating breakfast and sipping the hot brew. When they’d finished, Catalano asked him about his hiking experience and he provided a sort of resume that included trekking through the Smokey Mountains in Tennessee, along the Appalachian Trail, in Big South Fork in Tennessee, and a few other places. Michael was impressed. “You’re quite the go-getter,” he said with a chuckle when Jason finished. The easy tone was a huge relief.

“I just … I guess I’d rather have things to do,” Jason replied, trying to downplay the idea. “I’ve always been that way.”

Michael kept his eyes on the road, nodding. “Well, given how you’ve managed the project, I’d say that’s a good quality.”

“Thank you. My mother would be happy to hear someone say that, sir.”

Catalano turned the car left and picked up speed. “You told me she passed when you were … a teenager?”

“Yes, sir. My grandmother raised me until I graduated from high school.”

“And that’s when you went into the Army.”

“I started out in the Marines, then ended up being loaned to the Army. After a while, I made it into the Special Forces and then Delta Force.”

“Wow, that’s impressive. It explains why you’re so polite, so aware of the chain of command.”

That made Jason smile. “That’s one of the first things I learned. Officers don’t take kindly to being treated like one of the grunts.”

Catalano chuckled. “Well, speaking of chain of command, let me ask you this. While I appreciate it, is there any way you can lose that ‘sir’ when it’s just me and you? I feel about a hundred years old every time I hear it.”

Jason drew a deep breath. “I … I realize you’d like to keep this quiet and I understand why. My concern would be that I’d slip up and use your name in a setting when it wasn’t appropriate.”

“You strike me as being highly disciplined, Jason, but …” He took a deep breath. “I’ll leave it up to you. It’s not my intent to get you in trouble. God knows, I’ve already come close to doing that.”

Jason didn’t speak. Yep, this was going to be complicated. Lots of landmines to maneuver around.

§ § §

When they arrived at _Fontainebleau_ , the carpark there was almost full. Not a surprise on a weekend, since it was such a popular trail. They found a spot, grabbed their gear, and headed out, following the yellow markings leading the way and then heading down a wooden staircase that led them to the start of the trail, which was an oval-shaped 11 kilometers and would take a few hours to complete. As they walked, Jason cataloged all the trees, mainly beech, pine, and oak, pleased in a dorky way to see them. There were rocks everywhere, which was one of this forest’s primary features. Rocks, large and small, were scattered along the trail, some in the shape of animals as well as rocks that people liked to climb, because some of them were huge. Since it was spring, there were also wildflowers in bloom, tons of them in every color and lots of birds too. And, of course, there were people, although they weren’t on top of one another, since the route they traveled gave everyone space to enjoy “God’s green earth,” as his mother would’ve said. “This is great,” Jason said, turning to catch Catalano’s smile.

“It is, isn’t it? I like to get out here a couple times a year and reconnect. Corny as hell, I know, but it works. Makes me realize what’s important and what isn’t.”

“I know what you mean.” Jason was working hard to curtail the “sirs” while they were doing this, but using Catalano’s first name? That seemed harder. His mission was to get close to the man; if he couldn’t use his name, he could at least come across as warm and caring. “Thank you for inviting me. I needed this. For a long time, I’ve either been living in a big city or holed up in a cramped barracks somewhere listening to the sound of gunfire.” He managed a rueful chuckle. “I like this better.”

As Jason looked over, his gaze locked with Catalano’s. “I’m so glad,” the man said and, yeah, it was clear he was talking about the previous incident. Seeing this as redemption? Good. One goal achieved. 

“I feel as if we’re blowing out all the cobwebs,” Jason said with another laugh.

“I think we are.” Catalano let out a huge sigh. “It’s just what I needed.”

“Me too,” Jason said, relieved that the man seemed to relax. That’s what he wanted, although, it felt uncomfortable setting him up this way. No one knew for sure if Catalano had any connection to Infernum, other than his father and grandfather’s commitment to the organization, but that was Jason’s real role here. Spy on the man, dig up dirt, find the truth, and report every last bit of it to the CIA. The relaxed man he was walking with wouldn’t take kindly to such a thing. It made him feel strange, thinking that. He’d been ordered to become Catalano’s lover, yet his real goal? Destroy him.

§ § §

They walked for a good hour and Michael? He was delighted by the company. Jason was, as the saying goes, more than just a pretty face. Yes, he _was_ quite handsome and every time he turned that glowing smile Michael’s way, he felt his knees go weak. Goddamn, how was he still unattached? Even given the intense schedule he kept, he must have time for dating or at least moments in which he’d meet people. Although, he wasn’t one to talk. He’d been out of the dating scene forever. After Melissa’s death, what the hell was he supposed to do? He had kids to raise, a presidential campaign to run, a start-up to develop, and, yes, a secret to keep. Secrets, in fact. Nasty things, secrets. In a heartbeat, they could take over your life.

Michael looked up when he heard other voices. They were coming down a drop in the path and up ahead he saw a woman with a couple of little girls, all of them decked out in jeans, colorful sweaters, and navy-blue jackets. One of the girls—the older one, he thought—was trying to climb one of the infamous rocks that sat like the boulder it was on one side of the path. This one was maybe nine feet, so not a huge one, but the child was having a hard time figuring out the best way to get to the top.

They stopped in front of the woman, who looked a bit frazzled. That’s when Jason began to talk to her, his tone cheerful, but low-key. His French, Michael thought, was flawless. Much better than his.

“Her daughter spent time recovering from an illness,” he told Michael a moment later. “Her name’s Nicolette. She’s well now, but a bit hesitant to try something adventurous, although she also wants to.” Jason spoke to the woman again, a question, Michael thought. Then with a nod, he removed his backpack and crouched down to talk to the little girl.

Michael was able to follow the conversation … or at least, piece it together. Jason explained to Nicolette that before attempting to climb any rock, she had to find out where the handholds and footholds were. He showed her one handhold and then asked her to figure out a few on her own, which she did. A sweet smile appeared at that success and Nicolette’s mom smiled too.

Soon, Jason was shadowing the child as she used the appropriate dents in the rock to haul herself up. He was there to catch her if she slipped, but spent most of his time encouraging her. 

Michael cheered when they made it to the top. Nicolette’s expression alone brightened a day already going very well. Damn, Jason was quite the charmer.

Jason showed Nicolette how to get down off the rock and when they hit the bottom, she ran to hug her mother, excited and proud. Then she hugged Jason.

As he picked up his backpack, Jason was reminding her to always take that first step: check out her target, assess the possibilities. Watching him, Michael knew that was good advice for him too. Was Jason attainable? God, he hoped so. Everything that’d happened today had only increased his desire for a romantic relationship with the young man. Not only sex. No, he wanted more, he wanted _all_ of him. That, however, involved both of them. After everything that’d happened, he couldn’t push it. He needed to take his time, to let things develop at their own pace. 

They walked for another hour. Michael had a particular area where he wanted to stop for lunch, but as they followed the trail, a new, disconcerting wrinkle threatened this goal, not to mention the day: Michael’s heel began to hurt. 

Damn! A blister. It had to be. And he hadn’t thought to bring any Band-Aids or other supplies along, either. The heel was starting to demand attention and he was finding it difficult not to limp, but he didn’t want Jason thinking he was some old-fogey wimp, so—

“Are you all right?” Jason asked just then, putting a hand on his arm to stop them. “You seem to be limping.”

Michael made a face. “I think I might have a blister.”

“Oh, shit. Let’s take care of that.” Jason looked around and saw a rock that’d work. “Sit here, okay?”

Slipping his backpack off his shoulders, Michael sat down where Jason indicated, a bit embarrassed, but also touched by the young man’s immediate action. He watched as Jason untied and removed his shoe and sock. “Oh, yeah, that’s a good one,” he said as he inspected the blister. “Good thing I brought my med kit.”

Michael had to wonder if there was anything Jason wasn’t equipped to do. “Do you have—?”

“Moleskin? Definitely. I try to keep it close. Nothing worse than messing up your heel in the middle of a great day.” He grabbed his backpack and produced a small kit that included Band-Aids, antiseptic, moleskin, even small scissors. Jason examined Michael’s heel. “Okay, the blister is broken. I need to cut away the loose skin. I’ll be careful, but it might hurt.”

“Okay.” Michael watched as Jason disinfected the scissors with an alcohol wipe, then cut away the loose skin. He straightened out when he was done. “We need to let it get as dry as possible, so let’s take a minute.”

Michael had to smile. “I had no idea you had a medical degree.”

Jason laughed. “No, it’s just, well, Afghanistan. You walk around in those damn boots they give you for hours on end and the last thing you need is a blister. I learned. Plus, I got to the point where I could help my buddies. Not being able to run at a critical moment can be fatal to everyone. It goes without saying that we needed each other.”

“I bet.” Michael had been too young during the Vietnam War to be drafted, but he sometimes felt as if he’d seen his own combat thanks to what happened to his father. “Did you have any lasting effects from all of that?” He raised his hand. “Sorry. Maybe that’s too personal. Don’t feel as if—”

Jason didn’t look offended. “No, it’s fine. Yes, I did. I still do, actually.” Jason gave him a wry smile. “If I start acting weird, it might be the PTSD.”

Michael knew all about PTSD, but now wasn’t the time to share. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is this … did the Army offer any treatment for it?”

Jason was opening a box that contained a roll of moleskin. “Sure. Mostly therapy sessions that teach you how to deal with the symptoms. And meds, but I try to stay away from those.”

“They don’t help?”

“Stopping a flashback episode? Not really.” Jason gave him another smile. “I do take the occasional pill if my head starts to hurt, though. That can get old real fast.”

Watching Jason’s expression, Michael had a new respect for this incredible young man. He’d had some hard knocks, hadn’t he? Losing his family at such a young age and then ending up in the Army, which led to Afghanistan and all its horrors. That was a lot to take in. “What made you go for the technology? Seems like you might’ve made a fine doctor.”

“I guess I liked the challenge it involved. It was cerebral rather than physical. And you weren’t watching people die, which happens in the Army as well as in the medical world.” Jason shrugged. “I don’t know. It just … learning how to code or build a computer from scratch is … it takes me away from all that other stuff, it’s straightforward and logical. There’s right and wrong that never fails you.”

“I see what you mean.” Falling silent, Michael watched as Jason applied an ointment to the blister before he covered it with a Band-Aid. Then he cut off a section of moleskin and fashioned a hole in the middle of it, one that fit over the wound. “That’s genius,” Michael said when it was done. “So the blister isn’t shut off from the air, but it’s cushioned against more rubbing thanks to the moleskin.”

“Exactly.” Jason grabbed Michael’s shoes and socks. “We better get back on the trail. Looks like we lost the sun.”

Michael grabbed his sock and slipped it on his foot, then put on his shoe, relieved to find that he felt no pain when he stood up. He laid a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “You’re a miracle worker. Thank you.”

Jason nodded, handing Michael his backpack before he slipped on his own.

Then they were walking.

§ § §

Jason could tell that a storm was brewing. Not one of the come-to-Jesus storms he’d grown up with in Nixa, storms that darkened the sky and stirred up the winds before the rain came down in buckets. This would be mild by comparison, but Catalano wanted to get to a specific spot, which he said had a great view, so they took the walk up a few notches. Jason hoped that wouldn’t put a strain on the blister he’d fixed, but Catalano said nothing and about thirty minutes later, they’d made it to the spot. “Oh, this is nice,” Jason said as he looked around. They had a sweeping view of the trail ahead and the vista below. Even right now, when the sun had disappeared and a light rain had begun to fall, it was breathtaking.

Catalano looked over to check his expression. “Nice, huh?”

“Gorgeous. Well worth the trip.” Turning around, Jason searched for a spot where they could take shelter because the raindrops were getting bigger. “How about we sit under that tree? I’ve got a tarp we can use if it really starts to come down and I think it’ll be fine to sit there. Not hearing any thunder.”

Catalano was laughing. “Were you a Boy Scout?”

“I was.”

The man gripped him in a side hug. “You came prepared for everything. Yes, let’s sit there.”

With a smile, Jason followed him, both elated and depressed. He’d managed to convince Catalano that he bore him no ill will over the sexual assault and that? It’d make Conklin happy. The way he was deceiving the man, though … well, that was depressing. The guy had issues, he was lonely, and now he thought perhaps he’d found someone. That seemed worse than climbing onto a roof and putting a few bullets in his head. At least then he’d be dead and there’d be no pain to feel.

They sat side by side on a couple of rocks and ate the roast beef sandwiches Catalano had prepared. There were thick cut potato chips and a container of coleslaw kept cold with its own ice pack to go with it, so the meal was both filling and delicious. As they ate, they talked and Jason learned a few things about the computer installations that he hadn’t known. That secret software that was supposed to be hacker proof? It would initially be in a closed system, one that wasn’t part of Vérité’s Internet connection. Interesting. That meant they wanted to test it without interference from anyone on the outside. It made sense, but Jason said nothing, merely taking in the info. 

As the rain picked up a bit, although it still wasn’t what you could call a downpour, Jason rigged up the tarp to give them shelter. As they hunkered down to sit out the storm, Jason produced his Snickerdoodles as well as a small box of chocolates. 

“I think I can complement that,” Catalano said with a smile as he pulled a thermos out of his backpack. “Coffee.”

Jason had to admit that worked. They ate cookies, popped chocolates, and drank coffee as the spring shower came down in gentle waves. The only sound was the patter of rain on the tarp. Munching on a Snickerdoodle, Jason had to admit that this? It was nice.

Next to him, Catalano stirred after his own contemplative moment, moving a bit closer. He finished a cookie, then took a sip of his coffee. Jason heard him sigh, but didn’t move or speak, unwilling to break the peace. 

As Catalano’s shoulder bumped his, Jason turned to see the look in the man’s eyes: quiet happiness radiated there. Caught by that look, he held his breath, waiting.

Catalano reached over, stroking Jason’s cheek with the tips of his fingers as his gaze softened even more. Then, with care, he moved forward until soft lips met soft lips, the kiss a sweet mix of cinnamon and coffee. He moved back enough to check out Jason’s expression. “I hope—”

With a smile, Jason slid a hand around Catalano’s neck and kissed him with tender determination, the emotion quite real. How could it be anything else? Catalano’s willing vulnerability would move the coldest heart.

They embraced so quickly Catalano almost lost his coffee. “Thank you,” the man whispered at his ear.

“For what?”

Catalano’s grip tightened. “I think you know.”

Jason kissed Catalano’s cheek. “Nah. Short-term memory problem. I forget things so quickly.”

Then Catalano was kissing him again.


	6. Chapter Six

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Six**

After he got home Tuesday night, Jason showered as instructed and then dressed in casual clothes. As he walked around the apartment, picking up newspapers and the like, he tried to get a grip on the evening to come. Graeme was due in another hour and he wanted to be ready, although … he wasn’t sure that was possible. Jason picked up one of the three books Catalano had sent him, three books about the history of computers that they’d discussed on their weekend hike. There’d been a note thanking Jason for the hike, which he’d enjoyed, and there’d also been a small box of caramels covered in dark chocolate, which was a favorite. It’d been nice of him to remember his interest in the books as well as his love of those chocolates.

With a sigh, he set all of it on a nearby bookshelf and went into the kitchen. Rummaging around in the refrigerator for something to eat, Jason realized he wasn’t hungry. Of course not. “Shit,” he murmured and grabbed a bottle of water, going back into the living room. He returned to the books, standing there rubbing the top one with a finger as he attempted to get his thoughts in order. Instead, it seemed like he spaced out for an instant, thinking nothing. God, he was a fucking mess.

Catalano was in Italy at a tech conference and wouldn’t be back until Thursday. They’d texted one another and even spoken by phone, but in both cases, Catalano was restrained by his circumstances. Still, Jason had been surprised by the smile each communication had brought. He liked this guy, didn’t he? 

That should be a positive thing, but knowing the truth made it far more twisted. Yes, maybe Michael Catalano was everything Conklin, Abbott, Hirsch, all the CIA’s upper management thought he was: the new leader of a shadowy organization that may or may not have murdered its (alleged) last leader, Catalano’s father. Or maybe not. In any case, the task of discovering that truth? It’d fallen to him and that investigation? Still ongoing. The problem was, nobody had given any thought to what his feelings might be once he’d been forced into a sexual relationship with the man. And that? Because those assholes had _no_ feelings whatsoever. They couldn’t imagine such a thing. Nor did they care.

Jason flopped down on the couch, chugging water. Then of course there was tonight’s immediate problem: butt sex. He hissed through gritted teeth. What the hell was wrong with him? He was as enlightened as any other progressive living in 2017. He knew straight men engaged in anal intercourse, that their girlfriends enjoyed pegging them, that a lot of those men found it a big turn-on. And that wasn’t even including the—as Graeme had put it—“bi-curious” men who might be a little less straight than they thought, men who’d wander over to the gay side of things on occasion to get their jollies, butt sex included. Maybe he was one of them, maybe he wasn’t. All he knew at the moment was that he found the idea made him anxious as hell. Not the having a love relationship with a man part. Nope, that was fine. Butt sex? _Anal intercourse._ Even the thought of it freaked him out, although he didn’t know why. Yes, he’d had problems with David in that area, but he’d been _fifteen._ Now, presumably, he was a mature adult.

Taking some calming breaths, he checked his time. Graeme was due soon. Okay, get it together, Jason. This wasn’t as bad as lots of things he’d done or might have to do. No death was involved, no injury, nothing disabling. Yes, the deception would suck big-time if Michael Catalano wasn’t the evil genius Conklin, et al. thought he was, but he didn’t fucking have a say in that. No ethics could be involved if his only other choice was death one night in a dark alley. 

The knock on the door came about twenty minutes later. Graeme was early. With a couple deep breaths, Jason went to the door. “Hi,” he said, when Graeme gave him a wide smile.

“Hey.” Closing the door behind, Graeme stepped forward to kiss and hug Jason, running his hands over his body as he did. He pulled back. “You’re tense.”

“I am.”

“Same issue?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s talk.” Graeme grabbed Jason’s hand and led him to the couch, sitting so that he faced him. He studied Jason. “Still the same, uh, disquiet?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know a lot about you, but from what I’ve observed, you’re like most of the operatives I’ve met: tough, smart, resourceful. Plus, you rose to the rank of captain in Delta Force. So whatever is going on, it isn’t because you lack strength or resolve.”

Jason could do without the psych evaluation, but that? Yeah, it was Graeme’s job. “I don’t know either. It just … it exists. It’s bugged me all day and last night? I had a lot of fucked up dreams.”

“What was happening in them?”

Jason shook his head. “Unknown. Generalized terror. I was thrashing around in my sleep, but I don’t remember anything specific.”

Graeme chewed on his lower lip. “Okay. Uh, do you want to cancel?”

“No. Like I told you on the phone, things went well with Mr. X, so I need to be ready when he moves on it.”

“Okay.” Graeme sat back, gaze still fixed on Jason. “You followed my instructions?”

“Yes.” When he’d showered, he paid close attention to the area that’d be the focus tonight: his butthole. No enema was involved, but the idea was to be clean and get in a little preliminary exploration. “That … it felt good.”

“So you doing it to you isn’t the problem.”

“No.”

“And you don’t think this goes back to your teenage exploration with David?”

“No. We could never consummate that act, but that was us being stupid. No lube and we were fumbling around, horny as hell.”

“It sounds familiar.” Graeme managed a smile. “Okay, here’s my suggestion. We get naked in your bedroom, make out, roll around for a while to get comfortable, then I go down on you. That ought to help you relax. Post that, we shift into the main attraction. I’ll spend a lot of time with lube and my fingers getting you prepared. Then we try it.” 

If this didn’t freak him out so much, Jason would’ve laughed at the serious tone, which sounded absurd given what they were doing. “Okay.”

“Your safe word is …?”

Jason stared at him. “Uh, ‘stop’?”

“Okay, stop it is. I’d ask you about using booze or weed, but I know you’re not big on that stuff, which is why I’m suggesting the blowjob. You need to relax.”

Jason nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it,” he said, although it was the last thing he wanted. Nonetheless, he stood up when Graeme did.

They headed for the bedroom.

§ § §

Nearly an hour later, Jason lay entangled in Graeme’s arms post blowjob. It’d been up to the man’s usual standards, but he wasn’t sure if that—or anything else—was going to keep the demons at bay. His dream last night said “no.”

Rubbing his back, Graeme leaned close to Jason’s ear, his warm breath tickling. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“I’m going to keep telling you to relax, okay? Nothing matters more, especially for someone like you.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Graeme chuckled, hugging Jason tighter. “This isn’t a death sentence. It’ll be very pleasant.”

Jason resisted the urge to say “If you say so,” taking another deep breath. “Okay.”

Working with a gentle intensity, Graeme kissed Jason repeatedly, stroking and touching him everywhere, though he always returned to his dick. As he did, he whispered dirty things in Jason’s ear, promising levels of pleasure he’d never known, telling him waves of sensual joy would overwhelm him again and again. He sounded like an ad for a porn site, but whatever.

Okay, stop being so negative! It was a great way to build up what was to come, but Jason? He wasn’t buying it. In fact, the moment they began, he could feel the anxiety snaking through him like a fast-spreading malignancy. He did his best to relax, to listen to the soothing words, to let Graeme’s gentle touch work its magic, but … nothing. Each minute meant he was nervous, anxious, dreading what was to come.

Finally, without a word, Graeme urged Jason over onto his stomach. Jason saw him reach for the bottle of lube and did his best to not freak out. This whole thing? Ridiculous in so many ways. He’d been trained to face down murderers, yet this had him apprehensive as hell. What was wrong with him? It made no fucking sense.

Lying next to him, Graeme nibbled on his ear while his fingers began their exploration, circling for a minute before he slipped one into Jason. “Good?” he whispered as he pushed deeper.

“Yeah.”

“It’s a sensitive part of the body and feels fantastic to most people,” Graeme said as he moved the finger again. “Just relax and enjoy it.”

It did feel good, or it would feel good if he wasn’t so fucking tense, waiting for … what? Jason had no idea. 

Minutes passed and Graeme added a second finger, spreading both as he worked to open him up. This hurt a bit, although not to an alarming degree and he’d expected it, so …

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

A few minutes later, the fingers were withdrawn and Jason heard the sound of a condom being opened. As Graeme put it on, Jason took more deep breaths, the panic crowding in at the edges of his vision. Fuck, what a ninny!

“Okay,” Graeme said, hands on Jason’s hips, urging him onto his hands and knees, doggy style. “Up you go. Ass up, head down.” He helped Jason get into position, spreading his legs so he could position himself. Then Jason felt his cock, pushed up against him, ready to slide into place. “I’ve got lube on everything. If we’re not careful, we’ll both slip off the bed.”

The joke was meant to lighten the mood, but Jason couldn’t smile. 

“Relax,” Graeme said as he pushed forward, making a gentle entry. “Jason? Relax. This’ll be fine.”

_Then, as he pushed again, almost all the way in, Graeme’s hands clamped firmly on his hips, Jason’s reality took a ruthless turn. With a violent jerk, it was as if the person filming his life had flung the camera, careening, down a steep hill. Graeme, the bed, the apartment, everything real and normal had vanished, wrenched into oblivion and replaced by blurred, twisting images. Jason opened his mouth to complain, but as he did, harsh voices filled his head._

_“Get your ass up,” one demanded, curt, sneering._

_“But what a cute ass!” Another man said amid hateful laughter._

_The truth hit hard. Naked on a freezing floor, arms and legs shackled, the steel clanked with every move. Trapped. Fingernails dug into his hips as someone …oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, someone shoved something into him, something that hurt like hell. He jerked, trying to get away from the force of that invasion, to speak, to scream, to protest, to—_

_“If you don’t hold the fuck still, Jason, I’ll—!”_

_“You do things our way, soldier!” A blow to the head knocked him over, but he was jerked back as soon as it happened. Dizzy, nauseated, he tried to breathe as they forced him into the same position. Rough hands held him in place as the penetration continued, as the pain grew stronger._

_“I said hold fucking still!” the guy screamed. “Hold still or I’ll end you here and now! This happens whether you like it or not. Do you understand?”_

_Jason opened his mouth, tried to speak._

_A violent shake. “Answer me!”_

_“Y-yes,” he managed with a gasp._

_Another blow to the head. “Yes, what?”_

_Losing consciousness, trapped by the unrelenting pain, Jason found breath, opening his mouth. “Yes-yes, sir.”_

_Then everything went black._

§ § §

Jason opened his eyes.

Graeme sat next to him, a concerned frown in place. “You’re in your bedroom, with me, Jason. You’re safe.”

Jason stared at the man, the nightmare reality overlaying the truth for an instant before things settled into place. He licked his lips, shaken so bad he couldn’t speak.

Graeme raised a hand. “Can I touch you?” he asked, a part of the protocol the PTSD course taught.

Jason took the hand, hanging onto it as he tried to get a grip on what had happened. He’d been here with Graeme then … what? He tried to take a breath, panicked as he realized he remembered nothing of what’d happened, nothing except … pain. Some kind of pain.

“Jason?”

“I was … somewhere. Don’t remember. Fuck!”

“Jason, it’s all right. That’s often the case. Could’ve been from your time in Afghanistan or—”

“No, it wasn’t that, it was somehow linked to what you were doing,” Jason said with sudden conviction.

“So what did it change to?”

Jason sat up, swung his legs off the edge of the bed, the sudden anger so intense he feared he might hurt Graeme. He grabbed his sweatpants, shoved his legs into the garment and, standing, swayed for a moment before he launched himself out of the bedroom so fast he caught Graeme by surprise.

In the living room, he paced from one end to the other, wanting something to smash or at least a sturdy surface to pound. 

Graeme joined him, also partly dressed. “Jason, take it easy. You had a flashback episode, you—”

“No, you don’t understand! I know what flashback episodes are about. I may not remember every detail, but I could fucking tell you what inspired the episode, what real life moment created it.”

“And you can’t with this one?”

“No.” Jason jerked away from Graeme, walking. “This is fucked, it’s all fucked! Something got triggered and whatever the hell it is, it’s something I don’t remember, something … it was something terrible!”

Graeme was following him. “If you can’t remember what happened, how can you know that?”

“I just do! It was … flashbacks come from real-life incidents, right? Things that happened and were so traumatizing that-that they caused the PTSD. That’s what this was, but it had nothing to do with Afghanistan.”

Graeme gave his head a skeptical shake. “You can’t know that.”

“I do know that!” he said in a loud voice and whirled around to confront Graeme. “And I know how this will play out too. Conklin will kick my ass for screwing this up. Me! I’m to blame. He won’t admit to knowing anything about a past event that may have led to the trauma and yet, he’s the guy who set up whatever happened, I know he is!” Distraught, Jason turned, knocking a lamp off one of the end tables. “Fuck this, fuck it all! I don’t even know if the guy I’m surveilling is guilty of one fucking thing. I could be ruining this guy’s life and in the end? No matter which way it goes, someone will put a bullet in my head so I can’t talk. It’s a big, giant, fucked-up lose-lose!”

Graeme took a step toward him.

“No.” He stepped back, arms raised. “I need to think this through, because I’ll have to report the whole mess to Conklin.” He looked into Graeme’s eyes. “And I know you have to report to your handler too, so don’t tell me otherwise.”

Graeme nodded. “You know how it works.”

“I know my life is worth nothing!” He walked around Graeme and went into the kitchen, yanking open the refrigerator to grab water. He threw one to Graeme, then unscrewed the cap on his and took a long drink. Between chugs, he tried to breathe. “Sorry.”

“No need for apologies. You have reason to be upset.”

Jason stared at him. “When did it start? The flashback?”

“When I was making my, uh, entry into you. You gasped and then you were talking to someone.” Graeme blew out air. “I knew what was happening.”

“What did I say?”

Graeme grimaced. “Something about understanding what was wanted … I’m not sure. It happened fast.”

Jason pulled out a chair and sat down with a thud, propping his elbows as he covered his face with both hands. “This is so fucked,” he murmured. “So fucked.”

Graeme laid a hand on his shoulder. 

After that, no one spoke for a long, long time.

§ § §

Late afternoon, Nicky was constructing an email to send to some folks at Langley, an email that detailed her latest supplies request. Normally, that’d be an easy job, one that’d take place in the quiet of her safe house office. She blew out air. Not today! No, today she’d had Conklin slam through the door about an hour ago, issuing orders right and left. Phone numbers, files, a secure line, and where the fuck was lunch? She’d scrambled to do what he asked, biting back the words that had arisen at his abrupt appearance: why in hell hadn’t he told her he was coming? Of course, that’s what he was like: a total dick. And he _had_ been in the general area, dealing with some issues surrounding a dead operative, so, yeah, maybe it shouldn’t be a huge surprise. Still …

Now, as she composed her email, she could hear him on speakerphone talking to … who was that? Abbott, right? Ward Abbott, Conklin’s boss. And he was yelling. What the hell was going on? Being nosy, she went over to the file cabinet that was set against the wall of his office, opening a drawer, pretending to look for something as she listened.

“You know what it was.” That was Abbott, a guy even worse than Conklin, nasty, demanding, a heavy drinker, a letch. Ugh.

“Don’t even say it.” Conklin sounded angry, but then, he always did.

“Had to be. Makes perfect sense. Shit, how the fuck could we know something that happened at the black ops site would—”

“Hang on!” Conklin scraped back his chair and in a heartbeat had yanked open the door. “Nicky!”

She managed to convey a calm she didn’t feel. “Sir?”

“Where in hell is my lunch?”

“Let me check.”

“Bourne is due at any moment. Send him right in.”

“Yes, sir, I will.” She watched as he slammed the door. When he returned to the call, it was no longer on speaker. With a huge sigh of relief, Nicky went back to her desk. Something was up with Jason Bourne. Conklin had been furious ever since he arrived. Once again, she wondered what Graeme McKenna’s role was in the whole thing. She’d been curious about who he was and had done a little discreet snooping. An analyst who’d worked throughout the world, he also, she discovered, become a kind of gay sex teacher for straight operatives who needed to pass. Was that what he was doing with Jason?

As she picked up her phone to call about Conklin’s lunch, the door opened and it was Jason. “Hi,” she said, filled with sympathy when she saw his face. Shit, he looked as if he was walking into his execution. She nodded toward Conklin’s office. “He’s expecting you.”

Jason gave her a grim nod, then knocked at the door and went inside.

Soon, Nicky had finished the call about the food. By now, Conklin’s voice had risen several times and was now so loud she could hear every word. Something about “this needs to get done and you know it.” Something else about lame-ass excuses that would not be tolerated. She could barely hear Jason’s soft voice, but as they continued to talk, as Conklin began to pound on his desk and yell even louder, Jason asserted himself. The guy had guts.

This back-and-forth went on for a few minutes and then, in a heartbeat, furniture jointed the racket. She heard a chair overturn, then a second one hit the wall. Oh, shit! Had Jason decided to take the guy out? God knows, he could do it, but then, as Conklin’s voice rose again, Nicky heard what sounded like flesh meeting flesh: several quick smacks followed and then a heavy thump.

Someone hit the floor.

“Nicky!” Conklin bellowed.

She jumped up and went to the door, knocking, and then letting herself in. Conklin picked Jason up off the floor, then shoved him in a chair. Jason’s lip was split and it looked like he had a welt near one eye. “Sir?” she asked, breathless.

“Get the med kit and some ice.” Almost as if he were an afterthought, he waved a hand at Jason. “I’ll be back.” Then he strode out the door, slamming it behind.

Nicky went back into the main area, retrieving the med kit and some ice from the refrigerator. Back in Conklin’s office, she scraped a chair close to where Jason sat. “Here, look at me,” she said after she’d put some antiseptic on a cotton ball.

He turned his head and she saw the misery in those blue eyes, a misery so profound she wanted to hug him. Biting her lip, she leaned close, hand on his chin as she dabbed the antiseptic on the cut. “You okay?” she murmured as she did.

“Yeah,” he said in a voice that told her he’d lied.

“Conklin … he’s an asshole.”

Jason took the piece of ice wrapped in some gauze that she offered and held it to the bruise near his eye. That’s when she saw the scrapes on his fingers. Damn, she knew for a fact that he could take down at least three men without breaking a sweat. Conklin, though, was another thing altogether. Conklin could end him. 

“Do you know where he went?” she asked Jason, unable to believe Conklin would go get his own lunch.

Jason didn’t answer for a long moment. “For meds,” he said finally.

“Oh, the pharmacy down the street, right? We have some kind of agreement with them.”

Jason didn’t answer.

Meds? So Jason comes in, Conklin smacks him around, and now he was getting medicated? And in addition, this had something to do with a black ops site, i.e., an unauthorized, secret site somewhere outside the U.S., a site where the rules the CIA had to follow did not apply.

Interesting. And for Jason? Scary.

§ § §

Graeme showed up at 7:30, carrying a bag with a container of soup in it. As Jason opened the door, Graeme took a long look at his face and came closer to give him a firm hug. “I’m sorry,” he said, meaning the fucked-up rules they lived under. “I want you to eat some of this before anything else,” he said, picking up the bag. He led Jason into the kitchen where he doled out two bowls of minestrone soup for them along with some crusty bread. They sat down to eat, which Jason did with care, thanks to the cut on his lip.

“How much lead time do the meds need?” Graeme asked.

“A half hour.” Conklin, of course, didn’t give a good goddamn what demons the butt fucking might’ve unleashed. His solution? A heavy combination of drugs that’d tamp down any PTSD-related problems and allow the training to proceed on schedule. 

“Okay. Uh, listen, I thought we might try a different position, one that’s less … threatening. The doggy-style left you exposed, which might have played into the flashback episode. Instead, we can do it with me spooning you. It should be more reassuring.”

The swirl of emotions was intense. Jason was touched by Graeme’s concern, but also angry as hell at Conklin as well as mortified that his life had come to this. “Okay, thanks,” he said finally, forcing himself to eat the soup. 

“Conklin’s a ball-buster, huh?” Graeme said at one point.

“He handles everything by yelling and smacking his operatives. One day he’s going to go too far.”

“I take it, you’d like to be there when that happens.”

Jason nodded, but said nothing. Trying to crawl out of this deep chasm was taking every bit of energy he possessed.

After the soup, the meds did their job and an hour later he felt numb. He went back to his bedroom with Graeme, stripped, and got into the bed, his fears blotted out along with every other emotion. Graeme massaged his shoulders and back, but when he wanted to go down on Jason, he shook his head. “Get on with it, okay?” he whispered to the man. 

They went through all the same motions as last night, but this time, lying on his side, knees drawn up, Graeme held him tight as he pushed into him with a gentle, but steady pressure. Jason kept his eyes closed and didn’t resist. No demons from hell were able to pierce the fog that was his brain, thank God. Graeme stroked him as he developed an in-and-out rhythm, the pleasure washing over Jason’s drugged mind in soft waves. A few minutes later, it was done.

“You okay, Jason?” Graeme whispered.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry it had to be like this.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but still …”

Jason couldn’t keep his eyes opened. He tried to tell Graeme again he’d done nothing wrong, but the words didn’t come.

A moment later, he’d fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep.


	7. Chapter Seven

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Seven**

Spooning sugar into his third cup of coffee, Jason started to think he might need another idea if he planned to get out from under this depression. Staying home, never getting dressed, and drinking coffee didn’t seem to be working. Nor was it any fun.

With a sigh, he looked toward the kitchen. Breakfast? Maybe protein and carbs would help? Or should he take another one of Conklin’s magic pills and go back to bed? 

Laying his head back on the couch, Jason wondered if he had enough of those pills to kill himself. No, he didn’t feel suicidal, but neither did he feel like running outside so he could boogie in the sunlight. This whole horrible mess, from beginning to end, was making him hate his life like never before. Sure, his initial training back in New York had been no picnic and some of it? Hell, to this day he had gaps a mile wide, gaps that might have something to do with what happened on Tuesday—that’s how bad it’d been. And all the tech training they’d crammed into his brain after that initial horror hadn’t been fun either, although at least he wasn’t being tossed into tanks of water. But then, well, then he’d moved to Paris, he’d gotten this job, he’d focused on Vérité and BC. Things were … stable. That’d been something, right? He had a somewhat normal life, had friends at work, went out to dinner with them, to parties, to other social affairs. Yes, he was spying on Catalano the whole time, but it’d still been better than New York, better than Afghanistan. Not much of a compliment, though, since New York, Dr. Hirsch, the Treadstone training center or pretty much anything else outside his childhood? All of that was complete and utter shit.

Until Tuesday. Jason reached over and retrieved his coffee, taking a couple of deep sips. Learn to be gay, which lead to some kind of horrific flashback he couldn’t remember, and then Conklin pounds on him? Great stuff. The bastard even pulled out his gun and laid it on the table, daring Jason to use it. God knows, he’d been tempted. 

Jason’s cell phone interrupted the morose ruminations. Grabbing the thing, he checked the display. Catalano and, oh, shit, he was calling from home. He wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow. Taking a deep breath, Jason clicked onto the call. “Hello?”

“Jason, hi. It’s Michael. Are you okay?”

The concern in Catalano’s voice made him warm all over. “Uh, yes, sir, I’m fine, but thanks for asking. Just a … minor issue.”

“Are you sure? When they said you’d taken a sick day, I was concerned. I don’t remember you ever doing that.”

“Yes, sir, I’m fine. I didn’t … I thought you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.”

Catalano chuckled. “So taking advantage of the boss being out of town?”

Jason had to smile. “Yes, sir, that’s me. I wish you’d leave more often.”

Catalano made an amused sound. “Well, maybe I will. I’ve got a lot of unused vacation time. Uh, listen, is there any chance you could come by my place? I have something for you, something I got in Italy.”

Oh, fuck, the last thing he wanted to do, although he knew the man couldn’t risk coming to his place. Still, his face was noticeable enough to invite questions, but … a gift? Actually, _another_ gift? This thing was accelerating at a dizzying rate, which was both alarming and fantastic in ways things never were. “Uh, sure, although, you didn’t have to—”

“Now, none of that. Please keep in mind that I’m still in apology mode for my … well, we both know what I did. So please allow me a few gifts for a very forgiving young man.”

No way out of this now, was there? He had to return gracious with gracious. “When would you like me, sir?”

“Sometime this afternoon, if possible. I do have a dinner to get to tonight. It’s one of those boring corporate things, but that, I discovered, is the price I pay for being in this position.”

Jason checked his watch. “I could be there in an hour.”

“Good! I look forward to seeing you then. Thank you, Jason.” Just like that, Catalano was gone.

Jason clicked off the call, sitting there. Another gift? This was getting crazier and all the emotions were fucking with his head. He felt touched by the guy’s determined effort to right the “wrong” he committed, but he also felt guilty. If Catalano ever learned who he really was … God, that would be horrible! He shook his head and then jumped up to deal with his current situation: make himself presentable.

Forty minutes later, he’d showered, shaved, brushed his teeth, and dressed in casual clothing. There was no way to hide his healing split lip or the bruise near his eye and on one cheek. To anyone he’d run into, he was either the guy who’d lost the fight or the “you-should-see-the-other-guy!”

He drove the fifteen minutes to Catalano’s place, spending the time perfecting the story of what happened to him. The more he thought about it, the more obvious it became: there was only one way to go, one story that’d work. Still, he hated all the lies, although, that seemed hilarious given what he did for a living. Oh, God, and now the guy he was surveilling had another gift for him. Shit. If there was an actual hell, he’d burn for all eternity.

Parking the car, Jason walked up to the front door, braced for Catalano’s reaction. Then he knocked.

A moment passed and then Catalano was opening the door, his happy expression morphing into one of concern when he caught his first glimpse of Jason. “Hi,” he said, brow furrowed, and held the door open. “Jason …?”

“Hi.” Jason opened his mouth to tell him the story, but Catalano took his hand, led him over to the couch, and sat them down, turning so he could see Jason as they talked. “What happened?” he asked in a hushed tone.

“Uh, it’s not as bad as it looks.” Jason thought about Conklin: how he’d yelled, sworn, pounded on desktops, kicked furniture, then kicked and punched him. The humiliation and anger mingled with the pain and that must’ve been reflected on his face. “Uh, I was out running yesterday and … I’m not sure what happened, but as I was going through an alley that’d get me to my apartment, a loud explosion came out of nowhere. Might have been a car’s backfire, but I’m not sure. It-uh, it threw me into a flashback episode and-and in that state, I thought me and a couple of my buddies were being attacked. I … ended up crashing into a dumpster.” Jason took a deep breath, dropping the gaze he’d had on Catalano. “I hit it with so much force, I ended up on the ground.”

Catalano pushed a bit closer. With a careful hand, he raised Jason’s face, his expression a mixture of concern blended with compassion as he studied what the “dumpster” had done. Then, with the same careful touch, he took Jason into his arms, pulling him close. “My poor Jason,” he whispered, then kissed his uninjured cheek. “That’s terrible.”

Jason couldn’t remember the last time someone had been so tender. Graeme came closest, but even he had to maintain a professional detachment that allowed him to continue as his teacher. This was like easing into a bath: warm and soothing. With a slow inhale, Jason put his arms around Catalano’s waist. “Thanks.”

The man pulled back to examine his face again. “Did you see a doctor?”

“Yes, sir. Got some meds so I could sleep.” Jason managed a smile. “This helps too.”

Catalano stroked his face again and it looked like he had tears in his eyes. “Well, I can see why you needed a day off.”

“I’m all right. Got banged up a lot worse in real combat situations.”

That made Catalano hug him again, rubbing his back for a moment. Then he pulled himself away. “Well, I hope, perhaps, this will in some way work to give you peace.” He turned to retrieve a small wrapped package, handing it to Jason. “Remember how we talked about religion? While we were hiking?”

Jason could tell the package was a book, which wasn’t a bad gift for him, since he loved reading and did a lot of it. “Yes, sir, I do. I enjoyed that.”

“You told me your family was Catholic, but you hadn’t been inside a church in a long time.”

Jason nodded. “I have a lot of questions, but never had time to find answers.”

That seemed to please Catalano. “Me too. I found this in a little bookstore in Rome. It’s not the kind of book that’s heavy on the proselytizing, but lets you form your own opinion.” He waved a hand. “Go on, open it.”

Jason ripped the dark blue wrapping paper to reveal a small red leather book. “Psalms?” he said as he read the title. “Thank you! That’s something I know a little about.” He opened the book. “Oh, wow, it’s in Latin as well as English.”

“I figured you knew enough Latin to read it, given how fluid you are with the romance languages.”

“I can get by, but I don’t get a lot of practice speaking Latin.”

“I think you’d have to hang out at a church to get that.”

Jason looked back up from his perusal of the book. “This is so great of you. What a beautiful book.” Then he realized he needed to take it up a notch, so he moved close enough to throw his arms around Catalano’s neck. “Thank you, Michael,” he said and gave him a soft kiss before hugging him tight.

That got the desired result. Catalano hugged him with new enthusiasm. “I thought you might like it,” he said and Jason heard the emotion in his voice. So, his assessment was true: they were _both_ lonely and vulnerable. 

Jason came back from the hug, smiling at him. “I do. And I’m glad we’ve gotten to know one another. I always thought you were a cool guy, given what you’re doing with Vérité, but now I know it goes a lot further than technology.”

Catalano tried to hide how much that pleased him. “Listen, I’ll need to get ready for my evening appointment and you need to go back to your recuperation, but I was wondering …” He hesitated, choosing his words with care. “I have a place in the mountains, a lovely little house I use to help with the stress I’m so often under. I was … is there any way you’d be interested in spending the weekend there, starting tomorrow, with me? No funny business, just lots of clean air and sunshine. I so enjoy your company.” 

Jason knew he’d hit pay dirt with the invitation. This would please Conklin. “I’d love to, Michael. That sounds great.” He moved close, rubbing Catalano’s shoulders as he leaned close to his ear. “And don’t be so quick about that no funny business stuff.” Jason moved back, smiling at the man.

The smile on Catalano’s face could not have been wider. “Jason, I don’t …”

Jason titled his head. “Don’t what? I’m thinking this might be going in a good direction for both of us. We seem to have a lot in common and the ways that we’re different? Those could be interesting.”

“You don’t think the age difference is a problem?”

“I’ve always judged people for who they are, not their age. Besides, I’ve known plenty of young people who behaved like grandpas and vice-versa, so the whole concept seems kind of meaningless.” Jason came closer to give Catalano one final kiss and hug. “I’m going to get out of your way so you can prepare for your evening. Text me how you want to handle things tomorrow, okay? I guess I’m taking off a second day.”

Catalano came to his feet as Jason did, moving closer to give him another long hug. “You take care of yourself,” he said as he let him go. “Get some rest. We won’t take off till mid-morning at the earliest. You look tired.” He rubbed Jason’s shoulder. “And this? We’re taking all the time we need. I’m sure there’s lots of issues and I don’t want you to worry about any of them. I’m very much enjoying the here and now.”

They smiled at one another and then Jason got a final soft kiss before he turned and went out the door.

Success? It seemed that way, didn’t it?

§ § §

In the car, Jason texted Graeme because it looked like he’d be putting the man’s training into practice soon. He didn’t get an immediate answer back.

By the time he’d gotten to his apartment, his brain was working overtime. How would this all work? Was he supposed to let Catalano seduce him, or did he do the seducing? And when they got that far, what would they do? He knew for a fact he could end up in that same butt sex position. If that happened, he’d not only be freaking out, he’d be freaking out Catalano. He might give away the whole thing in a moment like that. Shit, this was complicated! He’d never been in a situation like this and no one at Treadstone sure as hell ever trained him for it. Didn’t matter that it was a man, either. Beginning a relationship with _anyone_ was uncharted water for him. Post high school, his experience had been limited to the occasional hook-up in the Army or in New York when he’d been learning all the tech. And those? Usually a girl who made her intentions clear. Otherwise, he was clueless. And where men were concerned? Oh, my fucking God, he was—

The knock on the door interrupted that line of thought. He knew who it was. Jumping up, he yanked open the door. “Hey!”

Graeme stepped inside, taking Jason into his arms and giving him a long kiss. “How’s my boyfriend?”

That made Jason laugh. “Well, that’s a first. I’ve kissed two men in one day.”

Laughing, they went into the kitchen, because Jason found the he had an appetite. As he pulled out sandwich fixings, he told Graeme what had happened.

“ _Another_ gift?” Graeme said as he finished. “My, my, Mr. X is smitten, isn’t he? His heart must’ve stopped when he saw your face.”

Jason cut the ham and cheese sandwich he’d made, turning to stare at Graeme. “Sure you don’t want one?”

“Thank you, no.”

Jason set his plate down on the table, then turned to get water. “Yeah, he was alarmed. Then when I told him, he was sympathetic.”

“That was a good story. He already knew about your stint in the Army and that you had PTSD, so there was nothing suspicious about it.”

“Treadstone teaches us how to lie, so I can’t take all the credit.” Jason took a huge bite of the sandwich, chewing. 

“Your boss is going to be happy at how you’ve maneuvered this weekend.”

Jason drank water. “He will be. Thing is, I’m not sure how to play the sex stuff.”

“Meaning?”

“Do I make the first move? I’m the younger guy, he’s the closeted one. Does that mean he’s got little experience, so I have to lead the way?”

“You’ve never heard him talk about hitting the clubs, cruising the park, or maybe hiring a hooker?”

“No, but I guess any of that could’ve happened. He might not tell me, especially if he thought it reflected poorly on him.”

“True.” Graeme looked at the ceiling, lost in thought. “Uh, with girls, how’d you play it?”

“I … I felt it was important to be sure I had consent, so I always let them do the seducing and then made sure that’s what they wanted.”

Graeme rolled his eyes. “Hmm. Such a gentleman.”

“I didn’t want to get in trouble either in the Army or anywhere else.”

“Well, I guess you could wait and see what he does, but I’m thinking he might still be guilty over that sexual assault thing.”

“So I might have to make the first move?”

“Or at least encourage him.”

Jason took another big bite of the sandwich, chewing as he thought through what he wanted to ask. “If he thinks I’m the gay expert, do you think he’d go along with what I wanted to do?”

“You mean, could you avoid another flashback episode like the one you had with me?”

“That would be my goal.”

“I think it’s fine to direct things … unless he feels like he’s older, so it should be his call.”

“What do I do if that happens? I can’t let things go in that direction.”

“Hmm.” Graeme reached across the table to snag a piece of ham that’d slipped out of his sandwich, popping it into his mouth. “How about you tell him you prefer positions where you can see your partner’s face?”

“That might work.”

“I’m curious. This man is older than you. Old enough to be your father?”

“I guess he is, although he would’ve been young when I was born. There’s a certain fatherly quality about him, probably because he has grown children.”

“So at some point, he might want to be the alpha male in this relationship.”

Jason stood up, grabbed his empty plate, and set it in the sink. Then he sat back down. “He might. I guess I’ll have to handle it if it happens.”

“Maybe keeping him happy will be all it takes. I mean, think about all the years he’s been fantasizing about getting his gay on. Now you’re fulfilling those fantasies. That might keep him happy for a long time, especially given what a looker you are.” Graeme rubbed his lower lip. “I just thought of something. What about all the scars on your back?”

“A combination of playing extreme paintball as a kid and my service in the military.”

“You’ve got an answer for everything.”

“No, not everything. Besides, I’m just trying to stay alive.”

“You make me glad I never considered signing onto any black ops group.” Graeme reached a hand across the table, so Jason took it. “Want a quick lesson?”

Jason had to smile. “Now you’re taking advantage.”

“I am.”

“I have to call Conklin and update him, otherwise I’ll get in trouble.”

Graeme wiggled his eyebrows. “So call. I’ll wait.”

Jason gave his head a shake, unsure what universe he was living in. This one appeared to contain _two_ gay lovers. He was sure that two weeks ago he had none. And the most fascinating thing? He was enjoying it. “In the interest of getting my role right, I’ll do it.” He grinned at Graeme. “This time, though, I get to be the top. I need more practice on that.”

Graeme laughed. “If you think that’s a deterrent, think again. I love being the bottom.”

“Okay,” Jason said, getting his phone out of his pocket. “Let me get this call out of the way.” He got up to go in the living room. This wouldn’t be pleasant, but afterwards, something to look forward to.

Weird how things changed.


	8. Chapter Eight

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Eight**

About halfway to their destination, Michael realized how quiet it was in the car. Yes, the radio was on, so they’d had music and news updates throughout the time they’d been on the road, but actual conversation? Not so much. That, in addition to the fact that a steady rain was ruining the bright spring day he’d imagined, was making this whole thing less than ideal. Jason had told him he’d had trouble sleeping last night, so there was that. Nothing to be done about it. Now it occurred to Michael that perhaps Jason was regretting his decision to spend time with him at his house in the mountains. Maybe he’d realized that they had a significant age difference, one that was insurmountable. Or it was even worse than that. Perhaps he wasn’t attracted to Michael. Oh, God, had Jason succumbed to pressure? Was he doing this because he was a subordinate and felt like he had no choice? Did he fear BC would lose the Vérité account should something go wrong?

Michael opened his mouth, prepared to say something, but had a second thought. Bringing that up right now might not be such a great idea. There could be many reasons why Jason was quiet. Instead of panicking, he needed to give him space to talk about anything on his mind. That’s how it was done, right? Damn, it’d been so long since he’d dealt with an issue like this. His last significant relationship had been Melissa and she’d been gone a long time. Everything else since then had been the occasional prostitute, along with Harry Eton, his EA during his stint as governor. Harry had been as closeted as he’d been, so they “helped” one another on occasion. What did they call it now? Friends with benefits. It’d worked since no one questioned his assistant working late or going to his house on the weekend. And Harry? He’d been elected to a position in the Massachusetts legislature back in November and Michael’s endorsement? Well that hadn’t hurt.

“Jason?” he said now, when he realized something. “There’s a small café up ahead. You want to stop for coffee or anything else?”

“No, sir, thanks, I’m fine.” 

“Are you? You’ve been so quiet.”

Jason glanced at him. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m not such good company. I should’ve climbed in the backseat and taken a nap.”

“You’re okay with this, aren’t you? Because if you’re not I can turn around and take us back—”

“Oh, no, sir, I’m fine with it!” Jason touched his arm. “Really. I’m sorry you got that impression. I just … that same flashback thing I told you about kept me up. Uh, sometimes after it happens you keep thinking about it, which is never a good idea. The best thing for me right now is to be here with you, involved in having a great weekend. You know what? Let’s stop at that place. Maybe a cup of coffee and stretching my legs might help.”

“Okay, let’s do that. I was hoping this would be another fun thing we did together. Silly me, right? You’d never know I’m in charge of a huge technology firm.”

“Yes, I would.” Jason laughed. “What I see is a person who’s got a lot of sides to him. That’s a good thing. You’d be pretty boring if being a CEO was _all_ you did.”

Michael smiled over at him. “Okay, you convinced me.” He saw the café up ahead. “There it is.”

Then they were pulling into the restaurant’s tiny parking lot.

§ § §

This wasn’t going well at all and most of that was his fault. As the rain battered the car, Jason drank his fresh cup of coffee, watching as they headed down the road, trying to get his shit together. Yes, he hadn’t gotten much sleep, but that’s because he’d been with Graeme, who’d given him a few last minute “lessons.” Much to Jason’s surprise, by this point in his relationship with the guy who was his gay sex teacher, Jason liked him. He might even have feelings for him. Furthermore, he was enjoying the sex in ways he never thought possible. So he’d done nothing to cut off their time together and had spent hours fucking as well as talking about his upcoming weekend. Now? Well, that wasn’t helping him one bit. Smart, Jason, real smart.

When Conklin ordered this action, he sure as hell never thought about the emotional component, but that’s what was threatening to fuck up the whole operation. If he had feelings for Graeme, did that mean he was falling for him? Or was it just one of those one-off things that could happen between people? In any case, what the hell did it mean for his primary target, Michael Catalano? He had orders that gave the CEO priority over nearly every aspect of his life. Oh, and in addition to that, his primary task was to spy on him. Shit! Maybe the guy was the evil head of a super-secret organization … but maybe he wasn’t. He might be a guy struggling to make sense of his life in the wake of his wife’s death as well as the subsequent violent death of his father. Shit, Charles Catalano had been blown into a million pieces when that bomb exploded _inside_ the car he’d been in. His wife, Michael’s _mother,_ had sustained serious injuries that left her with a diminished life, one filled with a huge assortment of people caring for her. She’d been approaching the car when the bomb went off and had lost an eye, the use of one hand as well as lots of disfiguring injuries. He remembered well the grisly pictures that’d flooded the airwaves in the days after that event. It was a wonder Michael didn’t have PTSD, right? So here he was to do what? Fuck up the guy’s life even more? Target _him_ for assassination? Break his heart?

“Here we are,” Michael said as he turned the car up a long driveway.

It was raining so hard, it took him a moment to get a good look. Jason studied the house. It was by no means “little.” Unlike Michael’s house in Paris, this place had a less classic Parisian look: a white stucco house with wood siding, a terra cotta roof, and huge potted plants everywhere. To the right, Jason saw lots of deck chairs, and a covered area with a huge barbeque, refrigerator, tables with umbrellas and—oh, shit!—a pool! “Wow, it’s beautiful!” he said as he got out of the car with Michael, grabbing his suitcase as they sprinted toward the front door, already drenched. “Gorgeous.”

“Thank you.” Jason waited, still looking around at all of it, as Michael unlocked the door and hit the keypad. Then they both got out of the rain, standing on a rug inside as they dripped. Michael stamped his feet on the carpet, then retrieved a couple of towels from a nearby closet so they could dry off. As they did, he turned to Jason waving a hand at everything. “What do you think?”

The interior was modern, the space open and done in white furniture which was offset by the exposed wood beams overhead. “Wow, this is amazing. I love it!” Jason said as he looked around. So being the CEO of a big company had some perks. “How long have you had it?”

“A few years.” Looking pleased by Jason’s reaction, Michael walked him toward the dining area, all the big stainless-steel appliances set out in a neat row. There was a good-size table, lots of cooking space, all the amenities. “I’m going to go pick up some groceries for us at a nearby store, but before I go let me show you the bedrooms upstairs.”

Backpack in hand, Jason followed him, but they weren’t more than halfway up the stairs when Michael stopped. “What’s wrong?”

“Shit, there’s water on the steps. I must have a leak.” He turned to look at Jason. “Be careful. The steps are slippery.”

Jason nodded. They made it to the top and followed the water which, thankfully, hadn’t flooded the area. At the end of the hall, Michael opened a door into a room that must be used for storage. He saw boxes piled everywhere not to mention some spare pieces of furniture.

“Yeah, there it is.” Michael waved a hand at a hole in the ceiling, one that was dripping water at a steady rate. “I had the roof re-done two years ago. I am going to give them such a piece of my—”

Jason was studying the problem. “Uh, when they finished, did the roofers leave the extras here?”

Michael looked surprised. “Yes. I think they’re …” He walked over to a scuffed up mahogany dresser and opened a drawer, rummaging around. “Yes. Tiles and a can with some—ah, here it is. Roofing tar.” He turned to Jason. “This is for outside, though. It can’t—”

“We can use it to patch the inside. Then your guys can come fix it later.” Jason took a look around. There was an old desk close to the leak. “Let’s move that desk a little closer and then …” He looked around again. “Do you have a step stool? I think I could reach the leak if—”

Michael frowned. “I do, but this sounds risky, Jason. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“No, sir, I don’t either. I think it’ll be safe.” He looked at the dripping hole again. “Let’s give it a try. If it looks unsafe, I’ll back off.”

Michael stared at him. “Okay. I’ll get the stool.”

Jason used a few old towels Michael brought to wipe off the desk before they moved it closer to the leak. Then they set the stool—which had three steps as well as a small platform—on top. Jason climbed onto the desk. “You’ll have to hand me the tar,” he said as he took the tile.

Michael handed him the open can with a paving tool stuck into it. “Okay, but be careful.”

“I’m part mountain goat, remember?” Jason said, meaning how he’d shimmed up that rock with the little girl. He looked up at the leak, then positioned the stool. “If you’d hold onto the legs while I climb up, I think we’ll be fine.” He took the can of tar and set it on the platform. “Okay, let’s give it a try,” Jason said as he began his ascent.

It took five minutes and, in that time, he was able to patch the hole by securing the tile to the ceiling with the roofing tar so that the leak stopped. Not pretty to look at, true, but it did the job. Climbing back down, he smiled at Michael’s shocked expression. “Project manager, remember? We need to know a little of everything.”

“I’ll say. Thank you so much!” Michael gave him a big hug. “I’ll call those sons of bitches on Monday.”

“Of course you will. Let’s move the desk back.” As they turned to do that, Jason was feeling a little better about his chances for a successful weekend. This had turned things in a positive direction. Now Michael wouldn’t worry and he’d return to his relaxed state of mind. Moving that heavy piece of furniture back to its original spot, he hoped this little incident would help create a positive vibe. He couldn’t let the weekend slide into a mood more suitable to the weather because it had to succeed and move things forward. Had to. 

After the desk was in place, they began to move some of the boxes that’d been displaced by all the activity. Jason bent down to lift one rather large box a second before he realized that it was waterlogged. With a huge clatter, the bottom gave way and dozens of CDs hit the floor. Shit! As Jason moved to gather them, one particular CD caught his eye. It was turned so that he couldn’t see the title, but he reached for it, unsure why. As he picked it up, staring at words that were at once so familiar and so alien, his vision dimmed and his reality shifted with a violence that left him breathless. Loud, blaring music assaulted him. Raucous, commanding men screamed in his ear. The air had grown scarce. Through it all, Jason struggled to speak, but no words came. Muddled, terrified, he closed his eyes as images whirled in his head.

Darkness fell.

§ § §

Michael turned off the flame under the prosciutto and put the lid on top of the pan. Good. Everything but the pasta was done. Wiping his hands, he walked out of the kitchen and went back upstairs to check on Jason again.

It’d be alarming to see the young man go through what must’ve been a PTSD episode. Right after the CDs spilled out all over the floor, something about them had triggered him. He didn’t yell or scream, though; in fact, he didn’t move at all, staring at the pile of CDs, frozen in place. It’d been the rapid breathing that made Michael realize the problem. He hadn’t been sure what to do. He’d crouched next to Jason, talking to him in a soft voice, which seemed to work. Eventually, he’d helped him to his feet and taken him down the hall to his room. Without a word, Jason laid down on the bed, his eyes closing, his expression filled with confusion and pain.

Michael had kept close for the first half hour until he was convinced Jason had fallen into a peaceful sleep. Then he’d made a quick trip down the road to the market where he always shopped and grabbed the groceries for tonight’s dinner and tomorrow’s breakfast, returning to find Jason still asleep. So he’d gone ahead and gotten the pasta carbonara ready to assemble. 

Upstairs, he pushed open the door to find Jason sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked bewildered. “Hey,” Michael said, coming forward. He sat down next to the young man. “How’re you doing?”

Jason drew breath and then said nothing, shaking his head.

“You had … a little episode, Jason.”

Jason bit on his lower lip and Michael realized he was embarrassed. Moved by the young man’s pain, he slid an arm around his waist. “It’s okay. I’m just glad I was there to help.”

Jason took a deep breath as if to speak. Then he turned, throwing his arms around Michael’s neck, face pressed against his shoulder.

With all the tenderness he possessed, Michael held him close. “Hey, we’re in this together, okay?” he whispered, stroking Jason’s arm. “It’s all right. Combat leaves marks on people and from what I’ve read, it can take years to get it straightened out. I’m honored that I could be available to you, for this or anything else. You are a spectacular human being. It would be wrong to consider this some kind of failing.”

After a moment of silence, Jason raised his head, managing a smile. “Thank you. You’re pretty spectacular yourself.” Leaning forward, he kissed Michael on the lips.

Michael returned the kiss and then patted Jason’s cheek. “You feel up to some dinner? I’ve been cooking.”

“Yes, sir. I’m starving. Uh, let me …” He gestured toward the bathroom.

“Okay, I’ll meet you downstairs.” 

Back at the stove, Michael waited for Jason to follow him, a bit concerned about the young man, still. He didn’t, though, want Jason to see the anxiety because it’d play into the negative feelings he had about the whole incident. Surely there had to be a way for them to move forward despite what had happened.

Jason joined him a few minutes later and looked better, the color back in his face. “Wow, something smells amazing,” he said as he looked over Michael’s shoulder. 

“Pasta carbonara.” Michael chuckled as he began to add ingredients to the pasta. “Being Italian-American, something like this is always a go-to meal.”

“I’m not complaining.” Jason was opening cabinet doors. “Where’s the plates? I’ll set the table.”

“There,” he said, pointing. Good, Jason seemed to have the same thought he’d had: get back onto the good side of the weekend. “There’s silverware in the drawer below and would you get a wine glass for me. I know you don’t drink or I’d offer you—”

“I’ll have a glass.” Jason took down two wine goblets and began to set the table. “I’m sure it’ll enhance the meal.”

“You’re right, it will.”

Jason nodded. “Good.”

§ § §

The meal was fantastic and yes, the Teroldego Michael opened was perfect. As they finished second helpings, they sat at the table, talking, and thank God, things seemed to be back to normal. They had a prolonged discussion about their computer project that segued into funny musings about how Americans were different than the French and what American food they missed the most. Good stuff. Jason couldn’t believe he’d had the flashback episode. Fuck, that was insane! And the kicker? He had no idea what happened either before or during the episode. No, it was all one big, ugly blank. All he knew was that it’d happened when the CDs hit the floor. Beyond that? He came back to consciousness when he heard Michael’s voice, came back and had been dopey and useless.

Later on, his reaction to Michael’s tenderness had been … well, genuine. He’d been touched and frankly, right then, he’d needed a little sympathy. That had the good fortune of turning things back in a positive direction, though, so now here they were, chatting and happy. They needed, though, to go further. Conklin would not be content if he spent a sexless weekend with his primary target. Hell, no. Sex had to be on the table and right now, Jason wasn’t sure how. Doing something obvious like grabbing Michael’s crotch seemed alarming and not in character. Michael might wonder why he’d gone from zero to sixty so quickly. 

Michael had brought some orange and strawberry sorbet for dessert, but they decided to wait. They were both feeling a little lethargic thanks to the heavy meal. “Perhaps we should take a little walk,” Michael said with a laugh as they moved to sit in the living room. “It’s only twilight, so we’d still have time and the rain stopped about an hour ago.”

“True.” Jason looked out of that window to confirm Michael’s observation and that’s when he got his idea. “You know, we could do that and we’d get some exercise, but …” He looked over at Michael and his tone became mischievous. “We could also get that if we took a dip in the pool.”

Michael looked surprised. “We could but, I don’t think I packed trunks.”

Jason’s smile widened. “Me neither.”

They stare at one another. “Okay,” Michael said finally and Jason heard the way his voice had risen. “I’m down for that.”

Jason gestured to them both. “We’re guys, so no big deal, right?” he said, a bit flirtatious.

“Right, correct! None!” Michael sounded giddy.

“It’s heated? That’s what you told me.”

“It is. I turned it on a few hours ago.”

Oh, man, Michael had had the same thought. What a letch! “You think it’s been thirty minutes,” he asked him in a cheeky tone. “Wouldn’t want to get a cramp.”

That made Michael laugh. “Yes, I think we’re all right.”

In unison, they stood up and went outside, standing there to inhale the fresh air. Michael flipped some switches. Now the pool was lit up and the lights around the space had been activated too. They stared at one another. Jason realized he had to keep the tease going. He shrugged, then undid his belt, unzipped his jeans, and pulled them down, kicking off his tennis shoes and peeling off his socks first. In boxer briefs, he gave Michael what he hoped was an enticing look and then the underwear and his shirt fell onto that pile at his feet. 

Michael stared. “Oh, my, I—”

Jason turned, heading for the pool. “Last one in is a rotten egg!” he called as he jumped. He went straight to the bottom, surprised by the pool’s depth. It was heated, yes, but only enough to take off the evening’s chill thanks to all the rain. Pushing off the bottom, Jason surfaced to find Michael removing his pants. “Come on! It’s nice in here.” Michael looked a little hesitant. He wasn’t used to being so open about his sexuality … although, neither was Jason. Still, he had to make this easy. With a few strong strokes he’d made it to the edge of the pool. “Ever hugged a naked man in a pool on a beautiful spring night in the mountains?” 

Michael crouched down to stare at him. “That’s quite the incentive. Unfortunately, I don’t have the killer body you—”

Jason made a dismissive gesture. “Bullshit! You’re in great shape. Come on, Michael. Let’s get freaky!” He splashed a little water on him and turned, swimming away. By the time he’d made it to the other end of the pool and turned to come back, Michael had joined him. He made a beeline for the man.

“Oomph!” Michael said when they collided. “Oh, God,” he murmured when Jason wrapped his legs around him. “I-I—” He seemed to lose his voice.

“Hi.” Arms wrapped tight, Jason kissed him several times before he tongued him, tasting their recent meal as well as the wine’s sweetness. Michael’s hard-on banged against his thigh as, arms wrapped tight, they treaded water and made out like two sex-starved teenagers. 

“Someone’s been practicing,” Jason whispered when they paused the tongue play. He reached down to clasp Michael’s dick. “And ready, so ready,” he said before he kissed him hard on the mouth, then ducked out of his grasp.

“Come back here!” Michael yelled.

“You want me, you come get me!” Jason replied, swimming fast enough to stay out of his reach. He turned, watching while Michael drew near. At the last moment, he ducked, swimming down deep enough that he could swim under Michael. An instant later, he’d surface. “Ha!”

Michael turned, a huge smile in place. “If I get my hands on you, young man, you’re going to be sorry.”

“Oh, really?” he purred and moved closer, waiting while Michael drew near. Then he leaned close enough to brush his lips over Michael’s. “Does that mean you’re going to spank me?” he whispered as he continued the provocative tease.

Michael growled, grabbing him around the waist. “That’s going to be a little hard in the pool. How about it’s something you look forward to later?”

“I’ll do that.” Jason reached down to feel Michael hard dick. “Someone’s turned on. And where’d you get that huge cock? Do all CEOs have them?”

“We do. It’s a requirement of the position.” Michael began to kiss him again and, shit, talk about hard dicks! His was crying out for relief. “And now, young man, it’s time for your punishment,” Michael said when he came up for air.

Jason made a huge frowny face. “I’m so bad, aren’t up? I deserve punishment.”

Michael tried to look grave. “You do. Now come over here,” he said, pulling Jason to the pool’s edge. When they arrived, he grabbed him under the arms and heaved him up until he was sitting on the tiled surface. “Cold?”

“Not a bit,” Jason said, loving how Michael had taken control. It must’ve been the big dick joke and that? He wasn’t kidding. They worked well together, didn’t they? And the freakiest thing? He was loving it. Hell, he was enjoying the fuck out of this whole scene.

“Spread your legs,” Michael murmured and helped him create enough space so that he could move close to his target. 

Jason stared into his eyes, so turned on he was struggling to keep himself in check. “Now what?” 

One hand slid around Jason’s back while the other grasped his dick. “Now what I’ve been wanting to do for a long, long time,” Michael whispered. Then he lowered his head.

Jason gasped, weaving his hands into Michael’s hair. “Fuck!” he said with what breath he could fine. “Oh, God! God!”

It didn’t take more than a couple of minutes before Jason was rigid all over as he shot his load into Michael’s mouth. And the cool thing? Michael came at that same moment, moaning and shaking as he churned up the water. “Shit,” he gasped in a weak voice, bending to raise Michael’s chin so he could stare into his eyes. “You are hired,” he murmured before he kissed him. “Damn, damn, damn!”

Michael looked pleased. “The old man’s got a few good moves left.”

“Few? Give me a fucking break. You should teach a master class in blow jobs.”

That made Michael laugh. “I don’t think that’d go down too well with my board of directors.” He moved to hug Jason tight. “I’m happy if I can please you. Believe me, that’s all I want.”

Jason moved forward to drop back into the water, arms tight around Michael. “You’ve done that, Michael. So much.” He kissed his face, still shocked by his own emotion. “How about we do this all night?”

“I’m not sure I could keep up with you!”

“Sure you can. Let’s have our dessert. Then we can talk about round two.”

Michael looked as if he’d gotten the best Christmas present ever. “Okay,” he said finally. “It’s a plan.”

Jason kissed him again. “A _good_ plan.”


	9. Chapter Nine

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Nine**

Nicky parked her car across the street from Jason’s apartment, killing the motor and then sitting there. She’d been out on this sunny Sunday afternoon enjoying her time off. Last night, she’d finished the final technology-related book Jason had loaned her and wanted to get them back to him. Since she knew she’d be in his neighborhood, she took them with her. Then, a few minutes ago, she’d called him.

This wasn’t as crazy at it sounded. She knew he was spending the weekend with Michael Catalano. She’d never dial his cell phone and risk exposing him. However, he’d texted her earlier and told her what his ETA was. That wasn’t because they were such good friends, but so she’d have the info should Conklin—who’d definitely never call him in a moment like that—called her for an update. Whew! The complicated lives they led. Anyway, just as a precaution, she’d used her burner phone which would show up on his cell as “Brent Turner” when she called.

He was on his way, which he’d told her with his curt “wrong number” text. So now she’d leave the books, easy to do since she had a key to his place, and be on her way. Grabbing the three books, she got out of the car and walked to the street, checking for traffic first. That’s when she saw him.

It was Graeme McKenna. She’d never met him, but she’d stared at his picture long enough that there was no doubt in her mind. Let’s face it, the guy was good-looking all over the place. In fact, she had to admit that she’d gotten more than one girl boner thinking about Jason and this guy together, uh, doing it. Shit, what a picture that conjured up! He was coming out of Jason’s building, looking right to left as if he didn’t want anyone to recognize him. Then he turned right, walking off down the street until he disappeared around the corner.

Nicky crossed the street and used her key to get inside. She went up the stairs and used Jason’s key to open the door, juggling the books in her hand as she closed it behind. Looking around, she didn’t see anything out of place. For a guy, Jason was pretty damn orderly, so you wouldn’t expect to see junk everywhere the way you’d see with some men. Probably that was how the operatives were trained. Still, what had Graeme been doing? If Jason wanted to talk with him, wouldn’t he turn up later, when Jason got home? It was … it made her wonder. 

She set the book down on the coffee table along with the sticky note on top, the one that said “Thank you!” Then she did a bit of a search, looking for anything Graeme might have left: a box of candy, steaks, sex toys, something. But everything seemed in order and nothing seemed added or for that matter, riffled. If he’d been snooping, he’d done it in a meticulous fashion.

“Okay, just leave,” she murmured. Maybe what she’d do was continue to watch this guy. He could be fine, but maybe … no. And knowing all the shit Jason had gone through with Treadstone, she’d hate to think someone was gunning for him. 

Time to do more surveilling, right? She was getting good at it.

§ § §

Jason dropped his suitcase on the floor and then stood there. Home. He looked around and saw the stack of books on the coffee table. Must be Nicky. He went closer to check and, yep, she’d been here. With a sigh, Jason went into the kitchen and got some water, scrapping back a chair to sit as he opened it. He ran his hands through his hair. God, what a weekend. Had to be in his top five and, shit, it could be in first place. Michael was … amazing. Smart, funny, a great cook, a tender lover. They’d gone at it well into Friday night, all day Saturday, and into Sunday. Yes, there’d been respites when they went shopping for food, walked in the woods surrounding Michael’s house, splashed around in the pool, even watched an old movie on TV. God, so great—it’d all been so fucking great. And it brought up so many questions too. Surely this meant he was bi? How could it be otherwise? He had two male lovers and one of them, he felt certain, he was falling for. At this point, none of it seemed repugnant. In fact, more and more it seemed … natural.

Jason rubbed his eyes. Of course, there was the other side of the whole thing, the ugly, threatening side. His feelings? They were moot. He was on an assignment and it involved Michael in ways that could end his life. And he had no fucking say in that. None. He did what Conklin told him to do or else. The Treadstone operatives were lethal killing machines, the best in the business. Sure, he could outrun or take down two or three of the fuckers, he could kill _them_ before they killed him. Sooner or later, though, unless he found an amazing place to hide, they’d get him and then they’d end him. That was his reality. 

So his great love affair? Even if it was one-hundred percent real, even if the joy he’d felt was as strong as it would’ve been with a woman, even if his face still ached from all the smiling, well, none of that mattered. He could die and Michael could die with him. And death? Hell, that’d be the easy way out considering what else they might do. The CIA had black ops sites throughout Europe and using them to illegally torture people gave every single one of those fuckers a hard-on. People he could not control decided those things. That’d send someone to do the deed or bring them in. He wouldn’t know it was happening until it was too late. And the only weapon he had at his disposal was to keep playing their game, to surrender or at least appear to surrender, to do what was demanded of him. Would that do any good? He had no idea, although if something happened to Michael, he was pretty sure he’d be next. 

Now, though, he had a more immediate problem and he hoped Graeme could help him figure it out. He had to call Conklin, but he needed time to talk with Graeme first, to get it straightened out. Yes, he’d had sex with Michael, yes, everything was fine between them—that’s what he’d tell the man. He’d have to tell him about the one glitch, though, and that’s where Graeme came in. Hopefully, he’d be able to tell Jason how to get around it.

Graeme showed up an hour later and he’d brought Chinese food. Jason didn’t think he was hungry, but when he caught the food’s tantalizing aroma, that changed. They sat in the living room, eating out of the cartons. In between bites, Jason told him how the weekend had gone.

“Wow, it sounds great,” Graeme said when Jason described the seduction scene at the pool. “That was genius, Jason.”

Jason shrugged, chewing for a moment before he could speak. “I figured I needed to be the one to get the ball rolling, but I needed to do it in a way that didn’t make me seem like the one in charge.”

“Which is his role?”

“Yes. He’s older, he’s rich, he has … an important job. It’s a big deal.”

“So did he pick up the ball after that?”

“He did. The guy wanted to make up for lost time and, well, I guess he’s been lusting after me for a while.” He gave Graeme a crooked smile. “That’s what he said.”

Graeme returned the smile. “That I can see. You’re not some shallow guy in his twenties, but more established. Still, you have that face and bod, the keen mind, and those? They serve you well.”

Jason let that pass. “Anyway, he initiated after that and we did it everywhere in the house and outside too. The only thing that slowed us down was needing recovery time and exhaustion. He did have some of those blue pills, by the way, and he used them once, but I was surprised by how often he was able to—”

“… get it up?”

“Yes.” Jason scooped fried rice into his mouth and then took a long drink of water. “The problem, though, and the reason I needed to talk to you is that he wanted to get into anal sex, but when he tried, he wasn’t able to do it.”

“Meaning what? He wasn’t hard?”

“Yes. He started out that way, but then he got deflated. And when he did, he was embarrassed and wanted to go back to the good, old reliable blow job.”

“Did you two talk about it?”

“Briefly. It’s a problem he’s had. Uh, remember, he’s been deep in the closet his whole life. He’s used prostitutes and he had a friend with benefits thing going with a guy who worked for him, but he’s not that experienced.”

“I see.” Graeme sat back in his seat. “But it’s something he wants to do with you?”

“Yes. He seemed upset about the fact that he’d failed because it was such a big deal to him. I just told him we were both tired, that we’d try again.”

Graeme was nodding. “Excellent. You have an intuitive grasp on maintaining Mr. X’s dignity. That’s exactly what you’ll do.”

Jason set his empty carton on the coffee table and drank more water. “How? It’s not something I’m well versed at.”

“He doesn’t know that. Uh, what’s his schedule this week? When would you be seeing him again?”

“He’s out of town again.” Jason gave him a wry smile. “A guy in his position does a lot of traveling. He said he wouldn’t be back until the weekend.”

“Okay, great. Let’s schedule a night. You look beat, so how about, uh, Tuesday or Wednesday?”

“Okay, either day works, but what’re we going to do?”

“You’ll be playing the role of Mr. X and I’m going to be you.”

That made Jason blink. “What?” He’d never done that with Graeme because they both thought Michael would be the top.

“You’re good at directing him without wounding his pride. I’ll show you how to help him get into _you_ without making him feel like less of a man that you somehow had to educate him. Does he have a big dick?”

“Not so much in length, but girth … yes.”

Graeme’s eyes widened as he nodded. “That may be part of the problem. If someone in his past complained or was in pain, that could’ve put him off. Okay, well let’s do it Tuesday. I’ll let Conklin know and I’m sure you will too.” Graeme stopped, looking into Jason’s eyes. “You okay?”

“Uh, yes and no.”

“The ‘no’ has to do with Conklin/Treadstone?”

“Of course. That keeps twisting my brain. But I also had another flashback episode and that—”

Graeme looked startled. “While you were in the mountains? Oh, shit! What happened?”

Jason realized how interesting it was that the low point of his weekend with Michael hadn’t been the first thing on his mind. “Uh, well it started with a hole in the ceiling.”

“What?”

Laughing, Jason told him the whole tale. 

“A bunch of CDs set off the flashback?” Graeme asked, looking as confused as Jason had felt. “Do you have any inkling why?”

“No. It was weird, but it brought us closer.”

“How so?”

Not meaning to, Jason sighed. “He was so caring. After it happened, he helped me to the guest room and into bed. I wasn’t aware of what was going on, but I fell asleep and woke up a couple of hours later, confused and upset. When he came to look in on me, he was again just … tender. He’d not only had comforting words, but he’d fixed dinner.”

“Wow, Mr. X has a gentle side, huh?”

“He does.”

“How did you frame this flashback?”

“He thinks they all originated thanks to my time in the military, but I didn’t need to frame it at all because I didn’t remember anything.”

“Fortunate.” Graeme was gathering up the empty containers and shoving them back into the bag. “Okay, I’m leaving. You look like you need sleep and you have work tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah. I also have to call Conklin.”

“I’m sorry. He’s a major dick.”

“True.” Jason put the take-out bag in the trash and then walked Graeme to the door. They kissed and hugged, but somehow, it felt different. “Make it seven, okay?” he said about their Tuesday plans. “I’ve got a lot on my plate.”

“Will do.” Graeme smiled, patting his cheek. “At least you’ve got a lot of jerk off material.”

Jason laughed, waiting as Graeme went out the door before he closed and locked it. He did, didn’t he? If only he didn’t have all the other shit to deal with.

With a sigh, he retrieved his phone and dialed the number that’d give him a secure line. Then he was pacing, waiting for Conklin to pick up the phone. 

Wishing to God he had another life.


	10. Chapter Ten

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Ten**

Late that afternoon, as Michael unpacked, he relished the uptick in his feelings. He knew the source and felt like a teenager as he anticipated the evening to come. Jason. He’d show up in a few hours and they’d … well, they’d be together again. They’d texted, of course, and once, late at night as he lay in bed in a fancy hotel in Chicago, it’d gotten passionate when Jason took it up many, many notches. Michael grinned, remembering how he’d behaved like a giddy teenager getting his first boner. Damn, if his family knew what was going on they’d want to have him committed. His mother, especially … Michael rolled his eyes and shoved that thought aside.

He’d spent three days in Chicago at a high-profile tech conference that’d featured many of the giants of the industry. That, at least, had been interesting, although he would’ve preferred to be back in Paris. Then, with a heavy heart, he’d made the trip to his father’s alma mater. They’d built a gorgeous new library dedicated to his memory, so, of course, the entire family—except for his mother, who almost never left her house anymore—had shown up to sit on stage during the ceremony. He’d been the official family spokesperson ever since Dad’s passing, although his sister, Bridget, often handled stateside requests that didn’t rise to the level of an event like the dedication. Michael hated that his community work, his one term as mayor, one as state senator and, later, governor of Massachusetts, as well as the fact that he’d been his father’s chief of staff in the White House, gave him the gravitas people craved. He’d been anointed the “heir apparent” and God, did he hate that. During the last presidential election, there’d been way too many articles wondering when he’d declare his candidacy. Still, that was the family business, wasn’t there? And he was part of it.

As he gathered the items from his suitcase that needed to go into the washer, his phone signaled a text. Pulling it out of his pocket, he smiled.

Know anyone who’s interested in an evening with a boring project manager?

My experience is that project managers are HOT, he texted back.

Not really, but we usually have smart, funny friends. :)

You must be talking about someone else!

Not me! Be there at seven and I’m bringing dinner, OK?

Can’t wait, he said, then sighed as the conversation ended.  


Damn, they were silly. Big smile in place, he took the dirty underwear and socks to the washing machine and dumped everything in, throwing in a detergent pod before he started it up. He stood there as the machine began to fill with water, trying to remember a time when he’d felt such anticipation. Not in a long, long time, that’s for sure.

He felt like a teenager on his first date … only better. And, yeah, he already had another boner. Thinking about Jason did that every time.

§ § §

After she’d reread her report twice, Nicky attached it to an email and sent it off to Conklin. There! Done. She stared at the screen and wished for the fiftieth time that she had another job. This was so fucking boring. Some days, she didn’t see even one human being. In fact, the “fun” days were when she had to meet an operative somewhere and give him instructions, a map, something she couldn’t e-mail. Not that the operative would spend time chatting with her because most of them just glared at her and moved on, but at least she’d be outside in the sunshine.

With a sigh, she began to clean the mess on her desk. Thank God she had her martial arts class tonight. Kicking boxing was awesome! She felt so much more in control of her life thanks to all the classes she’d taken: kick boxing, self-defense for women, boxing. Leaving work late or walking down a dark alley didn’t scare her the way it used to. She wished there was somewhere in Treadstone that she could use those skills. Yes, she told Jason she wanted to be an analyst and that’s probably where she’d end up, but dammit, she envied him his freedom. Sure, right now he was pretending to be a project manager because he was doing spy work, but even so, he wasn’t stuck behind a fucking desk. And, damn, right now he was no doubt getting a lot more sex than she was, although … there was definitely a downside to all of that.

Speaking of which … Nicky checked to make sure she had the meds she’d promised him. One of the downsides Jason suffered were the flashback episodes, the sleepless nights, all that shit that came with the job. He was due any moment to pick up the pills and she wondered if he’d sit and talk. Using her key, she unlocked the file cabinet behind her and pulled out the pills, setting them on the edge of her desk. As she repositioned herself, she thought again about Graeme McKenna. This whole business with him was still bugging her and she’d like to do her own spying so she could figure out what was going on. Of course, if she was too obvious, Jason would know something was up. He might be a lot of things, but Jason? He was smart, he’d see through her “casual” conversation in a heartbeat.

Right then, the door opened and Jason walked in. It happened so quickly that Nicky wondered if her expression gave her away. “Hey,” she said in a bored voice. 

“Hi.” He came to sit in the chair on the side of her desk, studying her. “You OK?”

Damn, he didn’t miss a thing. “Uh, sure. I was thinking about you, about the freedom you have compared to me and what the downside of that is.”

He snorted. “I’ll trade places with you any day. I could use a little boring downtime.”

“So the weekend with Catalano? That went well?” she asked, not sure how much he’d tell her.

“It had to go well.” Jason rubbed his eye. “Uh, you know how Conklin is. God knows what he’d do if I didn’t deliver the goods.”

So he’d been ordered to fuck Michael Catalano. Wow, Conklin was an asshole. She took a deep breath. “I think … isn’t it true that in the past it was women who ended up in that kind of situation?”

“Like Mata Hari? Yeah, I think it was, except that they were sleeping with the opposite sex.”

“Still, that’s got to be hard. If you didn’t like the guy, it was distasteful, but if you did, if you had feelings for him … well, that must’ve been even harder.” She opened her mouth to say more, but saw the look Jason tried to hide. Oh, God, he had feelings for Catalano! “I mean, here’s this guy who’s supposed to be the enemy—like a Nazi during WWII—and yet, you love him. Talk about a conflict.”

Jason stared down at her desk. “Yeah, that’d be hard.” He looked up. “Is this going to end up in a report?”

She saw the concern, but even deeper, the pain. God, how awful this whole thing must be for him. “No, I’m no stooge. You know how I feel about our boss. I wish he’d step on a landmine.”

A smile flickered across Jason’s face, but didn’t last. “Ditto.” He looked down again, studying his fingers.

Nicky wanted to reach over and take his hand, to watch as those fingers wrapped around her hand, to pull him toward her, to— Oh, shit! What the hell was she thinking? The guy was a colleague, although, she realized that if he’d been gay and needed someone to teach him all about heterosexual love, she’d have volunteered in a heartbeat. 

Damn.

Nicky took a deep breath, searching for something comforting to say, but no words came. If Jason had feelings for Catalano, he was fucked no matter what he did. If he played it straight, and found something damning about the guy, God only knows what Treadstone would do, but it’d probably be swift and final. If the guy turned out to be innocent? Jason would lose his project manager position and be reassigned to something else somewhere else. Cut off. Ducking her head, Nicky opened her drawer and pulled out the box of chocolate truffles she’d bought yesterday. She held out the box to him.

“Thanks.” He smiled, meeting her gaze. 

God, those blue eyes. “Take two.”

He took another one as he bit into the first. “Hmm, excellent. Did these come from that sweets shop around the corner?”

“Yes.” He had a sweet tooth just like her, although you’d never know it to look at him. “Hey, thanks for pointing me to that kickboxing class. I love it! And I feel like I’m getting much stronger.”

His face lit up. “Good! I’m glad to hear that. This is a dangerous business we’re in, so doing all you can to defend yourself is always a smart choice.”

She stood up as he did. “Uh, listen. Anytime you need to talk, I’m available. You can’t talk to anyone so—”

Another warm smile. “Thanks, Nicky.” He popped the other chocolate in his mouth, scooped up the pill bottle, and then reached out to squeeze her arm. An instant later, he’d gone out the door.

“Damn,” she murmured as tears filled her eyes. “Damn, damn, damn.”

§ § §

Jason arrived at Michael’s place at 7:00, anxious and happy, a ridiculous combination. “Hi—” he began as Michael appeared at the door, but then he’d been pulled inside and was being kissed.

“Hi.” Huge smile on his face, Michael pulled back. “You look worried,” he said as he studied Jason.

Jason gave him a crooked smile. “I am. Maybe you had your way with me, so now I’m not so shiny anymore.” Humor always worked well with Michael.

“Oh, God, you are funny.” Michael moved closer to hug him, the kisses plentiful as his hands roved over Jason’s body. “I’ve missed you so much.” He looked down at the bag Jason was carrying. “Something smells wonderful.”

“It’s Gazpacho with _tapas_. I got _Jamón, Queso y Chorizo,_ which is, uh, ham, cheese and chorizo, along with _Patatas Bravas._

“God, you’re amazing,” Michael murmured as they walked to the kitchen. “Your accent is perfect.”

“Thanks, but it’s really … I think of it like a savant thing that I can’t take much credit for.”

Michael had pulled the food out of the bag, peeking at everything as he did. “Shall we eat first?”

“I’m hungry. How about you?”

Michael raised his eyebrows, then grabbed him as he growled.

Jason laughed. “Down boy, down! There’s plenty of time for that and I’ve got something I’m sure you’ll like.”

Michael shook himself, then kissed Jason’s cheek. “Okay, I guess we’ll need the energy.”

“We will, definitely.”

Jason sat with Michael as they ate the soup and the _tapas_ , listening as he talked about his trip. For once, he was glad he had such a good memory. Mentioning something he thought Michael had told him when he hadn’t would be a critical mistake. As it was, he listened with interest to Michael’s tech conference, his speech to the university that’d named a building after his father, to his cemetery visit and the time he’d spent with his family. He admired the man’s devotion to his deceased wife. It could not have been easy being married to a woman when what he wanted was a man. And, yes, from everything Jason had been able to discern, Michael was gay through and through and had recognized that long before his marriage. Back in those days, though, it hadn’t been easy to live as your authentic self.

“Do you and your sister get along?” he asked when Michael mentioned his younger sister, Bridget.

“We’re not real close, but what happened to Dad? It brought us closer while also creating problems.”

“How so?” Jason asked, knowing Conklin would be pleased that the conversation had wandered into this territory. There were lots of conspiracy types online who were convinced that Bridget somehow had her father murdered. Given her mental health issues, drug history, and all the time she’d spent in rehab, it seemed a little iffy. She’d always been the low achiever in a family of alpha males. Not just males, either. Michael’s wife, Melissa, had been pretty high-profile before ALS took her down. Their daughter, Cynthia, seemed to have inherited some of that get-up-and-go, although their son, John? Not so much. “I’m afraid I haven’t followed your family that closely,” he said when Michael paused to bite into another _tapa._ “Is your sister still involved with that animals rights group?”

Michael grimaced. “The nut jobs? No, thank God, she isn’t. After she started working for Revive, she decided the hippy image had to go, so she upgraded and that’s one of the things that disappeared. My son, John, still supports those people, though he spends more time caring for my mom.” He laughed. “Talk about taking a turn away from the family business!”

Jason shrugged. “That’s how it happens sometimes, right?”

Michael exhaled. “Yeah, it is. Family can be great, but it can also be a burden. I’m … don’t tell anyone I said this, but I’m glad to be out of the country. It’s easier that way.”

Jason knew that Michael’s son was the family member who cared for Michael’s mother, which … was great? He wasn’t sure, probably because Michael never talked about either of them. The only family Jason had left was an aunt in Nixa and he hadn’t seen her in a long time. He didn’t know if that was good or bad. Right now, he’d have to go with good. “You have to be under a lot of pressure what with all the work at Vérité as well as the duties that fall on you as keeper of President Catalano’s legacy.”

“True.” Michael slid a hand over to lay it atop Jason’s. “You’re so empathetic.”

Jason smiled. “Sometimes. It depends on what else is going on.”

Michael rubbed his hand. “And what’s going on tonight?”

There was no doubt in Jason’s mind that Michael was ready to rock and roll. Years in that closet had left him with a lot of unfulfilled dreams. Jason? He was the guy who came with those dreams in hand and the stamina to deliver them. Good. That made all of this easier. Fulfilling dreams? He could do that. At this point, in fact, he was looking forward to it.

§ § §

In Michael’s bedroom, he stood with the man next to his massive bed. “Okay, it’s another night of getting your wishes fulfilled,” he said in that light tone that always got Michael’s attention. “First? Let’s lose the clothes.” He kicked off his shoes, then ripped off his shirt.

“I’m game,” Michael said as he copied Jason’s moves. “What are we doing?”

Jason yanked down his jeans and underwear, stepping out of both before he peeled off his socks. He straightened out to find Michael doing the same, so he waited until they both stood with developing boners. “We are going to christen the top in this relationship,” he said in a dramatic voice, then gave Michael a peck on the cheek.

Michael looked concerned because that whole effort hadn’t gone well the last time. “Jason, I—”

“Now, now, patience, I guarantee you it’s going to happen. Trust me.” Jason moved close to the bed, leaning down to stack the pillows. “First, we’re going to—”

“Oh, my God, is that a butt plug?” Michael said in a shocked voice.

Jason wiggled his ass. “Only for you, my love.” Good, he’d seen it. He checked the pillows. “Okay, sit here with your back against the pillow.”

Michael moved to comply. “But how are we going to do this?”

Although he’d done a lot of laughing when he’d gone over this scenario with Graeme, he was glad now that he’d done it. He felt more like an “expert.” “It works like this,” he said and crawled onto the bed until he straddled Michael’s legs. Then, leaning forward, he began to kiss him, his tongue joining in the fun as he stroked the man’s dick. “Just relax,” he murmured, when he rubbed the man’s tense shoulders.

It didn’t take Michael more than a few seconds to get hard, his enthusiasm rising as they got into it. “But Jason, you know what happened the last—”

Jason covered his mouth. “None of that. This isn’t the last time.” He kissed him again, still using firm strokes to give Michael a great boner. ‘You’re about to become the master of this relationship, Your Lordship, and I can’t wait!” Given the strength of Michael arousal, it was time to dive in. “OK,” he said as he leaned forward, ass up. “Take out the butt plug.”

Reaching around him, Michael ease out the bright blue device while Jason kissed his face. “Okay,” he breathed against Jason as he let it drop to the floor.

“Now use the lube.” He kissed Michael on the mouth, then nibbled on his neck as Michael grabbed the tube on the night table, fumbling for an instant. Then he pushed a slick finger into him, then two, his breathing increasing with each stroke. “This is making you so sexy,” Jason murmured at his ear, then bit on his earlobe. “You ready for this?” he asked as he waved the condom for Michael to see, then pulled it out of its wrapper, unrolling it on Michael’s cock. “All wrapped and ready to go.”

“Yes, but—”

“It’ll be the first of many, Michael,” he whispered as he blew into the man’s ear. “This is where we’re joined, right? You and me become one.” Then, moving with care, he inched closer, then lowered himself onto the man’s hard dick, taking his time, glad he’d practiced this with Graeme, twice. Goddamn, it felt amazing. And, nope, the face-to-face position did _not_ trigger him.

Michael was moaning, his eyes wide as Jason began a slow move up and down. He stared at Jason in wonder, but before he could say anything, Jason clamped his mouth over Michael’s, kissing his hard, tonguing him, rubbing his shoulders as they continued, building the momentum.

This wasn’t going to last long, that’s for sure.

§ § §

Many hours later, Michael lay in bed, Jason in his arms as they drifted off. God, what a night! Hell, every night seemed that way. Jason had been amazing, easing him past his reluctance until he’d convinced him being the “top” was the role he’d been born to play. Shit, being an older gay man had its drawbacks, especially since he was an older gay man who’d been in the closet for a good portion of his life. The idea of anal sex had been both exciting and concerning to him. Add to that the fact that there’d been several occasions when his fumbling efforts didn’t go well. Being the owner of a big dick? That didn’t help either. You’d think it’d be just the opposite, but where “butt fucking” was concerned, it could cause problems. And yet Jason, the guy who’d lived most of his young life as a gay man, had approached the problem with compassion and expertise. God, he was terrific! “Jason?”

“Hmm?” Jason said, cuddling closer.

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Everything.”

“Seems like I should thank _you._ You were awesome.”

“Sure I was! I’m nothing but a fumbling beginner.”

“You could’ve fooled me.” Jason yawned. “We’ve got work tomorrow, Mr. Catalano. Don’t know about you, but _my_ boss will have my hide if I’m late!”

Michael smiled. “If he does, let me know. I have a little influence with the SOB.”

Jason didn’t answer. After a moment, Michael realized he’d fallen asleep. He moved closer, easing an arm around his lover. Then he kissed his cheek and, with a satisfied sigh, closed his eyes.


	11. Chapter Eleven

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Eleven**

Nicky walked into the gym and turned left, going through the door that led to the boxing room. Yep, there he was. She walked a little closer, watching as Jason pounded his trainer’s special gloves. What were they called? Focus mitts, that was it. He was hitting them like Conklin’s face was pasted on each one and who could blame him? Watching as he worked on his moves, Nicky found herself checking him out, which she shouldn’t do, but hell, she was only human. Jason was all muscle, his body like that of a ripped god, although … he looked a little thin. Tonight, they’d be cooking a yummy two-crust pizza pie for dinner and she’d make sure he had two helpings.

Nicky chuckled under her breath. Damn, what was she? His mother? Not really, but she _was_ the gal who looked out for him. Once they started hanging out—about two months ago—and Jason started sharing his concerns, she’d worried that Conklin would think something weird was going on. They’d discussed it and after he agreed to the idea, she’d talked to the asshole. Oh, he’d huffed and yelled, telling her she needed to stay away from Jason because he’d “lose his focus.” That, she thought, must mean Conklin feared Jason would remember he liked girls. What a fucker he was! As if Jason lacked disciple and would quit what he was doing because, duh, girls! Somehow, she’d kept her cool and convinced him nothing like that was going on. Jason needed a “buddy.” That’s what she’d said and eventually, Conklin agreed. Miracle, right?

Being his friend? That might be a good thing in more ways than one. For instance, she’d seen Graeme again. Jason didn’t know, but he’d been walking around Jason’s neighborhood, looking like he wanted to get into his place. It’d been easy to watch him, because she’d been in Jason’s apartment (again!) leaving some chocolate macarons she found in a nearby market. Those he’d always eat. And there Graeme had been. So what the fuck was up with him? And should she tell Jason? His former gay-sex instructor was supposed to be working in London, so why was he in town? It just increased Nicky’s suspicions, but Jason was already dealing with so much she hesitated.

As Jason finished, he saw her and waved, indicating with silly gestures that he’d shower, dress, and be out in ten minutes. She nodded. The thing was, Jason _did_ need someone he could talk to. She could’ve figured that out even if she didn’t have a psychology degree, one she’d put to good use as she monitored the agents. He’d been forced into this position where he had a gay lover, a guy he appeared to have feelings for now. That all by itself was bad enough, but when you added the fact that he was _spying_ on his lover and that spying? It could end up costing Catalano his life and, yeah, Jason might not survive either. Shit, that was enough to fuck with anyone’s head. 

Freshly showered, Jason appeared just as he’d said: ten minutes later. “Hey.”

“The groceries are in my car,” she said as they headed out. She’d discovered that he was interested in learning how to cook, so every so often they made a meal together. As with everything else he did, he’d caught on quickly and had already made a bunch of dishes on his own. Tonight they’d be making a dish called Pizza Rustica, which was a two-crust pie rather than a rolled out pizza. “Did you get the prosciutto and sausage?”

“In my refrigerator,” he said as they came to her car. 

“You didn’t bring your running clothes,” she said as she went around to the driver’s seat. He’d gone home, changed, then run over here where she’d picked him up. All the exercise, she knew, helped him deal with what was going on.

“No, I didn’t. Hmm.” He slid into the passenger’s seat. “Guess my locker’s going to smell funky tomorrow.”

She made a sound, smiling over at him before she started the car. 

Later, after they assembled two incredible pies, they eased them into the preheated oven. “These are going to be so good,” she murmured as they cleaned up.

“Hmm. Prosciutto, sausage, parmesan and mozzarella cheese, along with spinach, all bound together with eggs, ricotta, seasoned with the onion, garlic, and herbs? Yeah, I’d have to agree,” Jason said as he put the leftover eggs back in the fridge. 

After they’d finished, they pulled out the items for the salad and sat at the table, tearing up lettuce, chopping carrots and celery, slicing tomatoes. While they did this, she studied Jason, feeling like his mother or sister every time this happened. “You’re not sleeping again?” she asked, although she knew the answer.

“Just a little problem for a few nights.”

He downplayed everything. “You sleep better with Michael, right?”

“Usually.”

She knew he was afraid he’d have a flashback episode and say something that’d convey a truth that didn’t fit into the narrative, but usually those episodes happened when he was alone. “Is Conklin still pressuring you?” she asked, knowing the answer.

Jason rolled his eyes. “He thinks that since I’m around him and at his properties, I should be able to do a lot of sleuthing.”

“The asshole hasn’t ever been in a romantic relationship,” she said as she began to cut up a green pepper. “In the early days, people tend to want to be together all the time.”

“It’s been more than two months.”

“Michael never had a love affair with another gay man—that’s what you told me. So he’s the guy eating every flavor of ice cream after a lifetime when he couldn’t eat _any_ favor.”

“True.” 

She scrapped the seeds out of the pepper. “So what’s the little apartment like?”

“Very nice. All his properties have expensive, high-class furnishings, but not to the point where they’re ostentatious.”

The apartment was closer than his house and there were only a few people who knew of its existence. A perfect place for a tryst. 

Nicky thought about what Jason had said. “So do you think of yourself as a gay man?”

He looked up from the carrots he was chopping to grimace. “I’m not sure I’m ready to give up women, but I don’t think I can call myself a heterosexual anymore.” 

She liked that answer, although, let’s face it, her chances with Jason were pretty much nonexistent. “Is … have you seen Graeme lately?”

“Uh, no. It’s been about three weeks.”

Yes, Graeme had been assigned to that office in London “just in case” he was needed for some remedial gay teaching. Of course, it hadn’t been three weeks since he’d been in Paris. She was not, however going to tell Jason that. He had enough to worry about already and maybe Graeme’s reason for being around was perfectly innocent. “Seems to me you’re getting plenty of practice thanks to Michael.”

Jason’s smile was half playful, half twisted. The irony of his situation had never been lost on him. How he managed to go on, she could only imagine. “Never thought I’d spend one summer catching up on all the sex I’ve been missing.”

Nicky propped her elbow on the table, head in hand. “Oh, come on, Jason. You must’ve had girls galore prior to Treadstone.”

“Not really. I mean, there were hook-ups in college and in the Army, but nothing that I’d call a love affair.”

And then, she knew, Treadstone stepped in and made a concerted effort to destroy him. God, they worked for horrible people! “Okay,” she said when she saw his expression. She took the completed salad and put a piece of plastic wrap on top before she stuck it in the refrigerator. “I think it’s time for a quick game of gin rummy.”

He perked up. “So I can beat you again?”

She sat up straighter. “You might be surprised!”

§ § §

They played and, yes, he beat her. She did, though, keep getting better at the game and he had a feeling that’d continue. When the pies were ready, they set out the china and silverware for their meal, then set the food on the table. Jason had to admit she’d been right about his need for company. Someone who’d not only be a friend, but who knew what was going on. That last part? It was crucial. Nicky knew most of the Michael Catalano story, which made it easier for him to relax and not worry that he’d blurt out something. They’d discussed it and then she’d gone to Conklin to ask permission, that, in part, was because monitoring the operatives was her job. Conklin, of course, in true form, had made crude jokes about “helping Jason remember what pussy looks like.” Yeah, the guy was _such_ a charmer. Still, she’d convinced him that it’d help Jason do his job. And it looked like she’d been right.

“Oh, God, this is so good,” Jason said as they ate. ‘It’s like a pizza, but it’s richer.”

“That’s a great way to describe it,” Nicky said when she’d swallowed what she’d been chewing. “Are you going to make it for Michael?”

“I am. It’s not that difficult. I’m starting to get the hang of this cooking thing.”

She made a face. “Jason, you’d catch onto just about anything. You’re what we psych majors call a “smart cookie.”

He grinned. “Whoa with the scientific terms!”

She rolled her eyes and went on eating. “Uh, so is Michael still talking about maybe sticking a toe out of that closet?” she asked him a few minutes later.

“He goes back and forth with it.” It was a dicey situation and had been tough to navigate. On the one hand, Jason felt as if he’d been doing a good job if Michael felt that way. On the other? Him coming out might complicate things. Already, he was talking about the two of them going on vacation, maybe to Italy, or maybe back to the States. And if he _did_ come out, maybe he’d introduce Jason to his closest family members: his kids, his sister, Bridget, his cousin on his mother’s side. The thought made Jason shiver. The more people involved, the more chance something would be exposed. That’s how it worked. Someone from Nixa who saw him at the airport and had to say hi. The problem? He’d call him by his given name, David. Once something like that happened, there was no going back. And that didn’t even take into account what Michael’s people might think about him. “Right now, I’m hoping he holds off. It’d complicate things.”

“Yeah, it sure would.” She paused, propping her chin with one bent hand. “It’s also very romantic, don’t you think? The guy is smitten.”

Jason opened his mouth to answer, but that’s when his cell phone beeped. He fished it out of his pocket. FaceTime. Shit, it was Michael! He gave Nicky a look, then pointed himself in a direction with a neutral background, raising the phone as he smiled. “Hey.”

“Hi! What’re you up to?”

That was Michael’s opening line when he wanted to invite Jason over. Taking a closer look, he could tell that he was at his apartment, which wasn’t that far from here. “Oh, I’m just … hanging.”

“Want to hang with me?”

“I’d love to—” Jason began, but the words died as Nicky, reaching for the salad, knocked her glass off the table. The shattering of glass on the kitchen floor sounded like a bomb going off in the stillness of the room. “Uh!” Jason managed to say.

“What was that? Is someone there with you?” Michael, of course, sounded alarmed. He’d gone all those years without a lover and now? He wasn’t about to share the one he’d found. 

“Ah, yes, it’s Nicky, my friend who—” Jason began before he realized his mistake. He took a quick breath, but it was too late.

“Nicky? You have a friend named Nicky? I didn’t know that, Jason.” Michael sounded rattled as hell, trying to be normal, but, nope, upset. “I-I wish you’d—”

“—Nicky is a girl, Michael. She’s been helping me learn how to cook so I can prepare meals for you,” Jason said all in a rush. “Uh, listen, we were just finishing up and I was going to wrap up part of what we made for you, because I think you’d like it. How about—”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a female friend?”

Now he sounded angry. Michael had a temper, although that was better than being the kind of person who stewed over every imagined slight. “Michael, I’m sorry. She and I … we only see one another every so often and lately—thanks to you—we haven’t seen one another much at all.” He smiled, but didn’t get one in return. “Let me—”

“Can I meet her?”

Oh, shit, introducing Nicky, who worked for Treadstone just as he did was _not_ a good idea. “Michael, there are extenuating circumstances. Can I explain first?”

“What circumstances? Why are you dodging the issue?” 

Shit, he was upset. “Look, let me grab the dish we made and bring it over right now. We made two of them, so one was always going to be for you. It’s Italian, you’ll like—”

“Don’t dodge my question, Jason!”

Gathering his calm, he looked into Michael’s eyes. “Hey, I love you and I’d never do anything to hurt you. There’s a reason this has played out the way it has and I’ll tell you the whole story. Just let me know if it’s okay to come over and explain it to you.”

“I don’t see why I can’t at least see what she looks like.”

Jason nodded. “I’ll explain. There’s a good reason. Can I come over?”

Michael glared at him, opened his mouth, then clamped it shut. He nodded. “Okay. Half hour?”

“Probably less. I hope you haven’t eaten yet.”

Michael didn’t answer. An instant later, he was gone. 

“Jason, I’m so—” Nicky began. 

He held up a hand. “It’s okay, Nicky. This is on me. I should’ve told him about you. He’s pretty possessive and I haven’t given him any reason to be concerned.” He blew out air. “Until now.”

“What’re you going to do?”

Jason shrugged. He didn’t have a clue. And all he had was a half-hour to come up with something that’d work.

Great.

§ § §

As he waited for Jason, Michael paced. Too good to be true? Is that what he was about to discover? His beautiful young lover had a secret and had been keeping it from him. That couldn’t be good. Was “Nicky” really a girl? How would he know, since he didn’t see her? Nicky could be a gorgeous guy, one Jason had taken a shine to. After all, messing around with an old man couldn’t be as much fun as doing it with a young guy. Hell, for all he knew, Nicky was _younger_ than Jason, a twenty-something as vital and supple as Jason, a young guy who could keep it up all night.

The knock on the door brought him to his feet. A moment later, there Jason stood, a tin-foil-wrapped item in hand, looking just as gorgeous and desirable as ever. “Hi,” Michael said, stepping back to let him in.

Jason walked past him to the small kitchen where he set the food down. It looked like some kind of pie, but Michael couldn’t get interested. Jason turned, coming back to stand in front of him. He studied Michael’s expression. “You’re upset.”

“I am.”

“I should’ve told you about Nicky. I’m sorry.” Jason cocked his head. “Can I do it now? Then maybe you can try the pie. It’s called Pizza Rustica.”

“Pizza Rustica? My mother used to make that.” Michael clamped his mouth shut and swept a hand toward the couch. No, he had to get this settled first. “Let’s sit.”

Jason nodded, following him over and sitting down, not too close. He studied Michael for a moment and then straightened. “Nicky is an American who’s twenty-seven. I met her last winter one day when I was coming out of the gym.” He clasped his hands together. “She wanted to know if that particular gym had self-defense classes for women. It didn’t, but I knew of another place that hosted lots of things like that so I was giving her that info.”

“And you decided you’d be besties?” Michael said, hearing how churlish he sounded. Real mature, Michael. If he wanted to lose the best relationship he’d ever had, this was a great start.

Jason studied him, then took a deep breath. “It was cold outside and she looked … well, not so good. Shivering, tense, uh, too thin. Anyway, after a few moments of talking about what kind of self-defense class might be the best, she was still asking questions. I guess she thought I was an expert.” Jason shrugged. “Anyway, I asked her if she’d like to sit in the café across the street and have coffee. That ended up being a meal.”

Michael couldn’t ignore the warmth that filled him. It was just like Jason to help someone in distress. Hell, that’s what he’d done that night he’d been stinking drunk and hitting on him. “So you became friends?” he asked in a somewhat less-hostile tone.

“We talked and I found out that she was running from an abusive husband. Back in the U.S. she’d endured several years of abuse that ended with this asshole causing her to miscarry their child. That was the thing that made her act, but this guy? He’s obsessed. At first, she stayed with friends, family, or at a shelter, but he kept showing up and each time he escalated the violence.” Jason’s whole expression fell. “She had more than a few hospital visits.”

Michael realized what a jerk he’d been. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah, it is. Eventually, with the help of a women’s organization, she managed to leave the country. She didn’t tell anyone—not even her family—where she was going and hasn’t been able to talk to any of her friends or family since. This guy keeps looking for her, but so far, he has no idea she’s left the U.S.”

Michael had an alarming thought. “Aren’t you in danger if he does find out?”

“Since his skillset seems to be beating up women, I feel confident that I could handle him. But listen, even with me, I know very little about Nicky, nor am I around her a lot. I don’t know her last name or where she lives or what she does for a living. I’m lucky if I have the phone number of her current burner phone, nor does she have any online presence.”

Okay, now Michael felt like shit. “So you didn’t want me even seeing her face.”

“No, of course not. Not that you’d call this asshole and rat her out. I think she’s safe right now, but just in case, I needed to protect her as well as _you_ from … well, from whatever. This guy is a maniac and you’ve had your share of that already.” Jason looked troubled as he shook his head. “I didn’t want her seeing you. I mean, she’d recognize you and if down the line, her ex somehow came back in the picture, you can’t end up involved in his craziness.”

Oh, God. Jason had been protecting them _both._ Why hadn’t he realized that? Michael took a deep breath and tried to reset his mood. “Is there … something I could do to help her?”

Jason stared at his hands. “I think she’s okay at the moment. Her folks set up a way to get money to her, that involves that women’s group. She said they still have no idea where she is, so …” He shrugged. “We get together every so often to cook, like I said. She’s good at it and I’m not. Besides, it’s a neutral topic of conversation that doesn’t reveal anything pertinent.”

Michael moved a bit closer. “Jason, I’m so sorry. I jumped to an unwarranted conclusion and behaved like … an asshole. I should’ve known you’re way too honorable to ever do anything like, well, like cheat on me with someone else.”

Jason’s eyes widened and he smiled before he leaned forward to kiss Michael on the lips. “You’ve got to be kidding. Given the way we go at it, you think I’d have enough stamina to get it on with another person? No way! After I’m with you, all I’m doing is falling into bed and sleeping for ten hours!”

Michael threw his arms around Jason and then, as they made out with their normal intensity, he pushed Jason back onto the couch until he was half-lying on him. “Can you stay the night?” he asked when they finally came up for air, stroking Jason’s face with the back of his fingers.

“I have a meeting tomorrow at 8:00, so I shouldn’t show up looking disheveled and sleep deprived.”

“At BC?”

“Yeah.”

Michael checked his watch. God, how he wanted to overrule the people at BC and command Jason’s full attention all night. Biting his inner lip, Michael suppressed the idea. He’d already been a complete ass, right? Time to play by a few rules. “What time should you leave?”

“Uh, probably by ten, eleven at the latest.”

“Then let’s check out your cooking project. I can’t wait to try it!”

That produced a huge smile. “I promise I won’t poison you.”

As they untangled themselves and got off the couch, Jason laughed. “I think you’ll be surprised. This is a lot better than those eggs I made.”

Michael grinned. Good. Things were back on track.


	12. Chapter Twelve

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Twelve**

During lunch, Jason turned down a chance to go out with his crew, instead locking himself in his small, cramped office on Vérité’s sixth floor as he worked. Not his choice. He’d rather put up his feet and take a nap. God knows, he needed it. The whole thing with Nicky a few days ago? That’d been hard. The lies he could pull out of a hat at a moment’s notice were, well, scary. Somehow, though, he’d managed to soothe Michael’s agitation. The payback, though, had been a bitch. He’d lost sleep and even when he managed to fall into what passed for slumber, the nightmares had shown up like grim harbingers of doom.

Grabbing his water bottle, Jason chugged. Okay, enough feeling sorry for himself. He had work to do. Lots of it. Opening a document he needed to proofread before he sent it to BC, he rolled his chair closer and then grabbed his headphones. That’s when he checked the corridor in front of him, a path between the supercomputers that were still going online. He’d see anyone who came into the space and that? It was crucial. Updating the document? It was secondary to his real task.

Michael being so high profile as well as the guy in the process of introducing software that could transform the entire computer industry? That made good security around him vital, which, of course, was a problem for someone like him. Oh, he’d found ways around a lot of it, but he always had to keep in mind that the team of experts in charge of sweeping Michael’s office and/or the office of anyone else, might strike. Even when the surveillance was working fine, though, there’d been weeks on end when he got nothing from Michael or anyone else in a position to know his business. He couldn’t bug his office, at least not in the traditional way, but he’d managed to add a piece of software to Michael’s phone that gave him access not only to his calls, but made it possible to pick up any activity the cell phone heard. Security would find such a thing if they looked hard enough, but before that could happen, Michael had dropped his damn iPhone on the floor and killed it.

Logging onto the cloud where he stored any conversation picked up on Michael’s _new_ iPhone, Jason looked up just as Alejandro Valdez came strolling down the corridor. Fuck! He closed his laptop as the man waved. What did he want now?

“Hey, we missed you at lunch,” the man said as he opened Jason’s door. A tall, well-built man in his forties, Valdez had the black hair and pale skin of someone with a Spanish lineage. “Brought you a sandwich. Chicken with Swiss cheese.” He waved the container in the air as if to excite Jason’s interest. “Here you go.” Laying it down on the desk, he took a step into the room.

“Thanks.” Jason’s last nerve was close to being plucked, but he hung onto his patience. Alejandro was gay and had been making a valiant effort to ingratiate himself with Jason in hopes of … oh, who knew? Blowjobs? A fuck buddy? Something along those lines and _just_ what he needed right now. More than once he’d regretted spreading around the story about how he was gay. “Tell everyone I’ll make it up to them once I get caught up,” he said when he realized that Alejandro stood perched in the doorway, ready to strike.

“You look like you could use a couple of those sandwiches, Jason.”

The man had been one extra irritant in a long list of such things and really? He didn’t have the time or the patience. “Uh, thanks, but I’m fine. I do, though, have lots to do so … I’ll talk to you later,” he said, trying to be diplomatic.

Alejandro leaned a shoulder against the door jamb, arms crossed. “You need to live a little, Jason.”

Translation: go out dancing with me and I’ll do you in the alley behind the club. For a millisecond, he thought with longing about his Glock, back at the apartment. Okay, get a grip. Can’t go around killing people because they want to hook up. He took a deep breath. “Good advice, but since I don’t have a rich sugar daddy, how about we talk later?”

“Well I—”

Pushing back his chair, Jason walked over to the guy, his gaze on Alejandro the whole time. “Later, okay?” he said in a voice that told the man he was done with this bullshit: not harsh, but not friendly. “ _Comprende_?”

Alejandro straightened, his eyes widening. “Yeah, of course. Sure,” he said as he backed out the door.

Hmm, maybe it’d been more threatening than he thought. “Thanks, Alejandro.” Jason smiled as the man nodded, turned, and began to make his way back to the elevator. Thank God. Thank fucking God. He went back to his desk, put the headphones on, and checked to see what Michael had been up to so far today. 

It wasn’t until an hour later that he heard a conversation that made him stop breathing:

**Michael:** Hello?

**Alan:** Michael? Are you coming on Wednesday? We’d like to do a face-to-face.

**Michael:** Alan? You shouldn’t call me like this.

**Alan:** Fuck that. We need to talk and you know it. Can’t you commit to that much? I’m not asking you to, uh, become the head of the …

**Michael:** I’m good. I keep telling you that, but—

**Alan:** You owe it to your father. He wanted you to—

**Michael:** You have no goddamn idea what he wanted!

**Alan:** Fuck, I do. I worked for him. I was one of the last people to talk to him before—

**Michael:** I don’t have time to listen to your stories about my dad. 

**Alan:** Then promise me you’ll come to the meeting.

**Michael:** No.

**Alan:** You know damn well it’s not me who wants you to take the lead. It’s—

**Michael:** Stop! I’ll think about it, Alan. That’s it. Just … I’ll be there, but I’m making no promises.

**Alan:** Great! Wednesday, at 9:00. You know the place.

**Michael:** I do. 

That’s where it ended. As he removed his earphones, Jason reached for his water. Damn, this could be huge. All the months he’d been surveilling Michael, he’d never heard even a whisper about Infernum or from anyone connected to the organization. Nothing. Not one word. And he’d had everything at Vérité wired to the max. During the past two months after he’d become Michael’s lover? The same. Every chance he’d gotten, he searched every nook and cranny in Michael’s house, his apartment, even the house in the mountains. Nothing. It’d gotten to the point where he began to believe that Michael had renounced the strange organization Charles Catalano and, before him, Michael’s grandfather, had created, an organization intent on rebooting the United States in ways that would make it unrecognizable to the nation’s founders. And that organization? An update of a group that’d been entrenched in Europe for at least five hundred years. Dangerous. That’s what the CIA thought, which is how he’d ended up here. Now …

Jason stared at nothing. Shit, this complicated things. If Conklin heard this, he’d go ballistic. It wouldn’t be out of character for him to order all kinds of bullshit that could do anything from destroying the entire operation to killing a few people. Subtlety? Conklin lacked the concept. If he wasn’t careful, the whole fucking thing could blow up in his face.

Sitting up straighter, Jason took deep breaths. Well, one thing he knew for sure: he wasn’t doing anything until he’d gotten more information. And that meant he’d be following Michael to his meeting. Thank God for GPS. He knew the day and the hour, so all he had to do was follow Michael. Then maybe the software on that cell phone would provide him some much-needed information. _Good_ information.

Fuck! Elbows propped on the desktop, he ran his hands through his hair. How fucked up could this get? This was … horrible. All of it. Horrible. He hated the idea that he might be working to betray Michael. Fucking hated it. His life? Yeah, he hated that too.

§ § §

Early that afternoon, the door opened and, big as life, Graeme McKenna walked into the safe house. For an instant, Nicky was glad that she’d had a heads-up from Conklin, but then she was doing her thing. “Hi, you must be McKenna,” she said, her tone and expression neutral. “Deputy Director Conklin said you needed a secure line?”

“That’s right. I’m in town to see Jason, but had a bit of business I needed to conduct.” McKenna stood in front of her desk, a smile on his handsome face, although she was well past the point where she might be impressed. “My normal channel isn’t working, although I’m not sure why.”

Nicky stood up, pushing back her chair as she came around the desk. She waved a hand at the door to her left. “Okay, well, this is the deputy director’s office.” Stepping forward, she pushed it open. “When you pick up the phone, I’ll connect you.”

“Great. Thank you.” McKenna went through the door and closed it behind. Nicky waited by the switchboard until he picked up the phone, then plugged his call into their secure line before returning to her chair. Arms crossed, she gnawed on her lower lip. Ever since she’d seen McKenna that day coming out of Jason’s apartment, she’d been suspicious of him. After Jason’s relationship with Michael Catalano took flight, she’d been glad that the “teacher” had been out of the picture. Of course, she had nothing to base that animosity on. She’d never mentioned it to Jason and he had only good things to say about Graeme, so it was silly. Still …

With a sigh, she went back to her inventory list. Jason had texted another request for meds, so she needed to make sure she could manage it. Poor guy. This whole fucked up situation was messing with him night and day. If Conklin found out how messed up Jason was there’s no telling what he’d do. She’d been fudging those numbers for some time now in order to keep him supplied.

McKenna was in Conklin’s office for more than a half-hour, although Nicky lost track of that time on her own extended call to Langley. When he finally emerged, though, she realized it seemed odd, but said nothing. “All done?”

“Yes, thank you. That was very helpful.” He smiled down at her. “The deputy director told me you’ve been monitoring Jason. I was glad to hear that.”

She hated that he wanted to set them at the same level. “It’s my job to monitor all the operatives,” she said, but kept the rancor out of her tone. “What they do can make for all kinds of problems.”

“I can imagine. It has to be stressful.”

_Especially if one of them is playing at being gay,”_ she thought, but didn’t let it reflect on her face. “It can be. People die all the time.”

Graeme looked grave for an instant and then sighed. “Okay, well I better get going.” He checked his watch. “Jason will be expecting me.”

“He will,” she murmured, wondering if anything he said was true. “Don’t stay out too late. That trip back to London can be a bummer.”

He smiled and turned away. A moment later, he was gone.

Nicky got up and went into Conklin’s office, looking around like a detective at a crime scene. She could smell Graeme’s aftershave and wondered if that scent was familiar to Jason. Did it call up sexy memories? Nicky gave her head a vehement shake. Stop, you idiot! She opened a few drawers and knew one thing for sure: Graeme had been snooping. Conklin wasn’t a neat person. Every time she’d inspected his desk, it’d been a huge mess with junk spewed everywhere. Now? In an ironic twist, Graeme had straightened it out. All the pens and pencils were in the holder on one side of the desk. Even more telling, all the pens and pencils were pointed down. Meanwhile, Conklin’s desk drawer now had lots of stacked folders/papers, which was a huge change. Usually, he left all the folders on the desk for her to return to their designated spot. As she looked through it all, it became clear that the entire desk was as neat as a pin. He’d snooped and then straightened everything out, which proved one thing: he wasn’t as bright as he seemed. Jason? He never would’ve done that.

So what was Graeme looking for? Nicky exhaled. Something. Now she had to figure out what.

§ § §

When the knock came, Jason straightened out as he headed for the door. Graeme, being a good CIA operative, always texted before his arrival, although why he wanted to drop by was a mystery. “Hey,” he said when Graeme was revealed. He motioned him in. “What brings you here?” he asked as they walked further into the living room.

Graeme waited until Jason stopped before he wrapped both hands around him and gave him a prolonged kiss, one complete with tongue. He squeezed Jason’s ass. “Missed you,” he murmured at Jason’s ear before he flung himself down on the couch.

Jason shook his head and rolled his eyes, then sat down, indicating the bottle of water on the coffee table before taking a chug from his own. “Too bad you chose today. My _boyfriend_ is taking me out to dinner.”

“Mr. X is taking care of his man? Good for him!” Graeme clapped, then gave Jason what passed for a smoldering look. “Perhaps he knows there’s another man out there, waiting in the wings.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s what it is.” Shaking his head, Jason checked his watch. Plenty of time, still, but one thing he’d like to avoid if possible was another sexual encounter with Graeme. He didn’t hate the guy and he’d learned a lot from him, but he got all the sex that he could handle from Michael. Graeme popped into his life every so often mostly, he said, because Conklin asked him to. Jason wasn’t convinced that was true and he sure as hell wasn’t about to ask Conklin, but every time he showed up, he managed to get sex out of it. Which was okay, but tonight? He was wired pretty tight and had a real spy mission in the works, so relaxing with Graeme had to be short and quick, minus the touching of body parts. “How come you’re in town?” he asked Graeme in a casual tone.

“Had some business.”

“Hmm.” Graeme had been stationed in London on some kind of short-term assignment, but the whole thing made Jason wonder. He’d worked with Treadstone long enough to know that the CIA had factions that weren’t always in harmony with one another. Just as he kept the details about Michael from Graeme, he had to assume Graeme did the same with him. Was Treadstone in a power struggle with Graeme’s division? “Well, in a half-hour, I’ll be kicking you out so I can get ready for my big date.”

“I could help you get ready.” Graeme gave him a leer. “I’m good at that.”

“I think my date might object to that and he’s one guy I don’t want to cross. Conklin sure wouldn’t like it.”

“Screw him! Mr. X is an old guy, right? You need someone who still has a little juice left.”

Jason laughed. “And that person is you?”

“Definitely.”

“Keep in mind that I’m ten years younger than you. Maybe I see _you_ as an old fuddy-duddy.”

Graeme growled in mock outrage, then threw himself at Jason. He hit him hard enough to send them both flying off the couch and onto the floor. They rolled a few times, but then Jason’s training kicked in. Before Graeme could put the moves on him, he sprang to his feet, backing up as Graeme followed. Then he stepped forward and flipped Graeme—who was four inches taller than him—back onto the floor with one precise move. Fortunately for Graeme, he hit the carpet. “Stay down,” Jason said to the guy as he stood over him. “I can do that as many times as you like.”

Graeme blinked as he looked up at him. “How’d you do that? I didn’t even see you coming.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Damn.” Graeme sat up. When he held out a hand, Jason pulled him to his feet. “You’re dangerous.”

“Only when I’m triggered.”

“They taught you that in New York?”

“Yep.”

“It must’ve been hard.”

Jason followed him back to the couch. “It was. They made sure of that.”

“Conklin?”

“He wasn’t a big part of the training. Dr. Hirsch was the guy in charge, but let’s pick another topic. That’s not something I enjoy reminiscing about.”

Graeme stared at him. He wanted to ask about a dozen questions, Jason knew, but he wouldn’t. “Okay,” he said finally and picked up his water bottle to take a big sip.

He was consumed with questions, wasn’t he? That seemed apparent. Jason had no idea why, although he couldn’t discount interest somewhere within the vastness of the CIA. Right now, though? He wasn’t entertaining any questions. Hell, no. 

He had a job to do.

§ § §

Thanks to Michael’s compulsive need to be on time, Jason arrived at the small restaurant when this meeting would take place a half-hour early. Dressed all in black, right down to the wool hat, he located a suitable perch across the street from the restaurant named _Jouir,_ climbing onto the roof of an office building where he could snap photos.

He’d snuck out of his apartment at 8:00, using the fire escape at the building’s rear to make his way to the ground. Something about Graeme’s attitude struck him as strange and he wasn’t about to lead the man to Michael. Even if Graeme merely wanted to satisfy his curiosity, it struck him as wrong. Using the alley, he found a car a few blocks from his apartment, hotwiring it before he followed Michael’s GPS route to this location. Now, he’d be able to get photos.

Since Michael had his phone with him, unless they had some kind of sophisticated detection software, any conversations during the meeting would be uploaded onto the cloud. Once he was back home, he could listen to whatever they said. 

Crouched behind a sign on the roof, Jason’s thoughts kept returning to Graeme. Could he be after something? His instincts told him yes, but Graeme had been such an important part of his training that he had a hard time believing anything nefarious was going on. He was hazy on which specific unit of the CIA Graeme worked in, so maybe he had a motive Jason couldn’t discern. It might be worth pursuing, but right now, he had to stay focused on what he was doing.

As people went into the restaurant, Jason shot photos, using his zoom lens to good effect, thankful for the lighting around the area. Some of the people going in were patrons of the restaurant, but he had to believe there was a private room at the back of the small building where Michael would meet with these folks. With Michael inside, he didn’t dare get closer. Blowing his cover would be disastrous and, given all the info he could gather, it would be a stupid move to make.

Once he got back to his place, he’d be able to upload the photos and use facial recognition software that’d identify each person. Then, of course, he’d have to decide how to proceed. Conklin always wanted to know every single tiny little detail of an operation, but sometimes it wasn’t the best thing to do. Of course, if Conklin found out he was withholding info, it would be bad. The guy had this ownership attitude where his operatives were concerned, one more like a man with a pack of dogs he had to whip into shape than a father with his sons. Whatever else he did, he had to be careful.

The soft rustling, barely distinguishable from the wind’s whisper, made the hair on Jason’s neck stand up as he tightened all over. Clicking the camera once more, although there was nothing on the street to shoot, he set it on the ground, behind the sign, as he worked to place the threat. Man, maybe six feet away, just behind. He leaned back, preparing to stand.

As the man rushed him, Jason sprang to his feet. He blocked the first blows, moving away from the roof’s edge as they fought, their soft grunts filling the air. Twisting, he kicked the guy in the chest with a strong upward thrust, but as his assailant lost his balance, the guy grabbed Jason’s foot, wrenching him to one side so that Jason hit the roof. He sprang back up and they went through the same dance, but this time Jason ploughed through the guy’s defenses and popped him twice in the nose, eliciting sharp yelps. That’s when Jason hit him with a brutal uppercut to the jaw and, like the chainsaw’s final caress, down he went. Jason landed on top of him and hit him again. With a moan, the man lost consciousness.

Jason got off of him, patting him down, checking his pockets, looking for weapons, identification, something, but finding nothing. An operative, paid to keep a watch on the outside while the group had its meeting. And, he realized, wearing a fucking suit. Who did he think he was, James Bond? Okay, well, thanks for the help. Jason yanked off the guy’s tie and used it to bind his hands and tie his feet. All he needed was a head start.

Grabbing the camera, his backpack, all traces of his presence here, Jason wiped down any traces of his presence before he headed for the nearby stairwell, wincing at the pain where he’d hit his hip. Shit, getting hurt could pose a problem, but now? 

First things first. Time to get the fuck out of Dodge.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Thirteen**

Jason was pulling on fresh clothing after his workout when his cell phone told him he had a text message. Grabbing it as he zipped up his jeans, he saw that it was Nicky.

_Heads up! Conklin is on his way over there and he’s having another of his rage fits!_

Oh, shit. Just what he needed. Jamming his arms into the sleeves of his shirt, he sat down to put on socks. Could this have anything to do with the intel he’d gathered a few days ago when Michael met with three guys who appeared to have ties to Charles Catalano’s Infernum? At the moment, he still wasn’t sure what it all meant, although he’d done a lot of research as he attempted to connect the dots. It had, though, been a slow process, especially since spending time with Michael and keeping up with his job had to take priority. Of course, the fucking sleepless nights and flashback episodes didn’t help. Thing was, someone like Conklin, who loved going off on a tangent at the drop of a hat, might do his crazy overreaction thing and insist he’d proven that Michael was the new head of Infernum. That would be tragic for a number of reasons. Honestly? He didn’t think they were there yet and he knew it’d be premature to bring Conklin up-to-date. So he’d kept it to himself. Conklin, though, if he’d somehow found out, wouldn’t see it that way. Things might get dicey as hell. 

As he jammed his feet into his shoes, he heard loud banging at his front door. “Oh, fuck,” he murmured, jumping up, walking out of his bedroom and opening the door. He backed up when he saw Conklin’s angry face. “Sir?”

“What the hell is going on with you, Jason?” Conklin advanced on him, slamming the door behind. “You are my fucking problem child and frankly? I’m sick of it!”

Jason knew that with a few quick moves he could end Conklin once and for all. God, it was temping. He was so fucking tired of the man’s abuse. Hell, there’d be a number of operatives who’d applaud him, but that wouldn’t stop Treadstone from sending one of them out to finish him off. “I don’t know what—”

“I just spoke to Nicky. What the hell is going on with you? I went through her records page-by-page and guess what? You’re the star! You’ve become a fucking junkie! All the meds you’re taking has to be having an impact on your ability to do _both_ your jobs and that’s unacceptable, Jason!”

So he’d come from Berlin to review Nicky’s drug database. Shit! Conklin was a lot of things, but “problem solver” wasn’t one of them. “Sir, I’ve had a hard time with—” 

“No!” Conklin roared. “I don’t want to hear your goddamn excuses! It’s always something, isn’t it? Never your fault, oh, no! Someone else is always to blame. Well, you fucking listen to me.” He moved closer, the anger reddening his face. “I am _not_ subsidizing your drug habit. You need to man up and do your job. I’m not going to sit around coddling you while I hope that at some point you’ll come through with useful intel. And I’m not supporting your drug habit knowing you spend almost every night getting fucked by a billionaire!”

Jason tightened all over. The desire to grab Conklin by the throat and end his life was chiseling away at his control. “I’m not spending my days and nights getting fucked, sir! You put me in Michael Catalano’s life to spy on him and that’s what I’ve been doing. You know damn well that something like that takes time to—” Then, in a flash, he’d grabbed Conklin’s wrist, stopping the blow headed his way. “Sir? Listen to me, please. If you mess up my face again, it won’t sit well with Michael.”

Conklin tried to jerk his hand free. “I don’t give a shit what—!”

He tightened his grip. “He’ll get suspicious. Last time, he was upset. One more walloping like that and the whole operation could be blown.”

Conklin jerked free. “You know damn well I have the right to smack you anytime I want!”

The fact that Conklin believed Jason belonged to him like a dog he’d adopted at a shelter? Fuck, that put a sour taste in his mouth … even if it was true. “Yes, sir. I’m saying that my credibility goes out the window if I keep showing up with bruises on my face. Michael knows I’m capable of taking care of myself, so it looks weird. Besides, he’s got security like you wouldn’t believe and they’d notice anything that didn’t seem to fit my profile.”

“Of course he has that kind of security. Look who he is.”

“Exactly. Right now, I’m under the radar, the pretty gay boy who works for his company, who’s become his lover and companion. You mess me up, he wonders what he’s missing, he gets suspicious—and believe me, he’s capable of that. Those kind of things are almost always impossible to walk back.”

Conklin stared for a long moment. “I want the doctors and, yes, the shrinks to take a detailed look at you. Pack your bag. I’ll take you to New York tonight.”

Shit! Jason didn’t move. “Again, sir, how is that going to look to Michael? I’m supposed to spend the evening with him. I have to attend a staff meeting he’s called tomorrow at 8:00, to assess where we’re at. I’m right in the middle of a critical software update. If you want to do something like that, it needs to be planned.” He took a deep breath, watching Conklin’s expression, knowing he couldn’t stop a second blow without stepping over a huge line. “I’m asking … requesting that we do this in a way that doesn’t look suspicious,” he said in a soft voice and dropped his gaze to signal submission. God how he hated this man, this job, this fucking life.

A huge silence followed, then Conklin pulled out his phone. “Let me make some calls,” he said and then walked away, going down the hall toward the kitchen.

As Jason watched, his brain was boiling. Oh, sure. Mess up his whole life and endanger this operation so you can save a few fucking dollars on meds. Sure! You’re a genius, you fucking asshole. An absolute genius!

§ § §

“Okay, yes, sir, I’ll do that,” Nicky said, still jotting down everything Conklin had ordered her to do when he’d called a few minutes ago. She took a breath to say something else, but that’s when he hung up. Shit! She took another look at the list he’d dictated. Poor Jason. It sounded like he was about to be subjected to several days of intensive testing, both physical and mental. What fun.

Shoving back from her desk, she grabbed her cup and filled it with the fresh coffee she’d just made. It made sense that Conklin took the whole meds issue the exact wrong way. Jason wasn’t an addict. Of course, that’s the first place Conklin went, but that’s only because he was incapable of empathy. Jason was under incredible pressure and everyone but Conklin knew it. So rather than being sympathetic and maybe talking to a doctor about what would be the best course of treatment, he goes over the deep end and wants to have Jason taken apart piece by piece. Typical.

For the next hour, Nicky made calls, refilling her coffee once as she talked to an array of doctors, psychiatrists, physical fitness experts, sleep specialists, and the like. Fortunately, she had a CIA-sanctioned list of people in Berlin who’d already been cleared to help as well as available facilities to use. That’s because Conklin wanted to do the whole thing sooner rather than later. Jason must be _so_ happy.

She put together a schedule and sent it to the folks in Berlin who’d be in charge of setting up this thing. Then they called and she spent another hour walking them through what they’d need to do, making sure they had all the contacts they’d need, reminding them to let Conklin know. He’d called in the middle of the whole thing, on his way back to Berlin, wanting to know how things were going. By then, she was able to reassure him that the exhaustive inspection of all parts of Jason would begin in three days.

Poor Jason.

Once it was all done, she returned to the problem that’d been nagging her ever since Graeme McKenna had been in the office. What had he been doing? Today, she was a little closer to figuring that out.

Like a dummy, she’d remembered many days after Graeme left that Conklin had loaded a keystroke logger onto the computer in his office. That software made it possible to track every move Graeme had made on Conklin’s computer. It’d been a while back when it’d been installed and she’d forgotten all about it. All she remembered is that it had something to do with a previous person in her position who Conklin believed was snooping. 

Now, though, she found the keystroke logger’s website and learned how to use it. That’s when she discovered that, yes, Graeme had somehow gotten into the computer. Had he guessed the password? Maybe. However, it’d happened, he’d started poking around and eventually appeared to fixate on a file labelled Songs, which didn’t seem interesting or important. What she found in that file was …music. Looking through the list, she could see nothing that would link the songs to one another, nor any reason why Conklin would have such a file. He wasn’t the kind of guy who’d kick back and play music to relax. So she hadn’t been able to add any information to her knowledge of Graeme except that he’d wanted to snoop in Conklin’s computer. 

Nicky sighed. Better call Berlin and make sure everything was on schedule. She wouldn’t want Conklin to get back to the office and discover things weren’t proceeding as planned. That would be bad … very bad.

§ § §

**Four days later**

As they made a turn that took them down another path in this Berlin park, Jason knew all his training had paid off. Despite the trainer’s admission that he’d been tasked not only with testing Jason’s physical strength, but with exhausting him, nothing even close to that had happened. That made Jason smile. At this point, there was no doubt in his mind that Conklin wanted to mess with him and, yes, so far, he’d done a good job of countering that.

Four days since Conklin burst into his apartment, he was spending his second day in Berlin. And that? It’d been _so_ much fun. Yesterday, for instance, he’d spent a good four hours at a medical facility being stripped, prodded, probed, stabbed with needles, x-rayed, MRIed, CT-scanned, and the like. If there was anything about his body that those doctors didn’t know, he’d have to call it malpractice. 

He’d arrived in Berlin yesterday at 8:00 thanks to the CIA’s private jet. No breakfast, no time to “freshen up,” nothing like that. Just a quick trip to the building where the doctors waited with their needles, cold stethoscopes, and probing hands. Great fun. Then he’d been escorted to another section of the building where he spent several hours with the shrinks. That’d been even more amusing. He’d taken tests, worked puzzles on a computer, and then spoken with two separate doctors who wanted to know everything about him. 

The second shrink, Dr. Larkin, was a PTSD specialist who seemed to suggest he’d been faking it all along. Right, that’s what he’d been doing, of course, why hadn’t he seen it? He’d talked with her about that for a long time before he couldn’t help himself and had asked her in a very mild tone if she’d ever been in combat or traumatized. No, she hadn’t. And yet, she’d done lots and lots of research and once spent four days in Fallujah talking to other soldiers like him. Jason had kept his temper in check and continued to tell her about the flashback episodes and how they harkened back to his time in the Army. The other stuff that had nothing to do with combat? He’d kept that to himself. At some point, she’d changed the subject and wanted to know about his childhood. Finding out that his dad had died in Vietnam had taken her into another direction, which, Jason had to believe, was more Freudian in nature. He’d done his best not to show his irritation.

Eventually, he’d been taken to CIA headquarters. On the top floor, about a half-dozen rooms had been set aside for visitors and he’d been given one of them, a studio-sized apartment which, nonetheless, seemed like a fucking palace compared to the cell they’d kept him in during his training in New York. He could fit this space inside his Paris apartment, but all he cared about was that it had a bed, small kitchen, and bathroom. It seemed perfect. He’d even gotten a small meal of chicken and vegetables, but after the day he’d had? He could’ve eaten three of them.

Now, however, his five-hour stint at the physical fitness end of things appeared to have come to an end. The “jog” through the park had only been one of several activities that’d included working out on a range of equipment in the gym where his current “friend” worked as well as an hour with their boxing instructor. He’d managed to do it all without any problem and the trainer had been impressed. Now, in German, the man told him to go on with his day. He was to return to his apartment, which was only a few blocks away, and await the next thing on the list. Which was? Herman, his workout guy, had no idea.

Jason shook the guy’s hand and took off, stopping long enough to get a couple of bratwursts with a huge side of French fries from a street vendor because this no-food shit was pissing him off. Knowing it’d irritate Conklin, he sat down on a nearby bench and ate the food, washing it down with a Coke. People were everywhere, some of them residents of the city, some tourists. He watched them as he ate, wondering what it’d be like to be them. Sure, they had their worries. No one’s life was perfect and it’d be stupid to romanticize them. People faced all kinds of challenges and things could get tough. Still …

He watched a group of young men. Tourists and they looked like Americans, although he wasn’t close enough to be able to hear them. Laughing, out seeing the sights, they seemed to be in their mid-twenties. Assessing them with the skills he’d been taught, he decided they were well-educated and had money. Even more reason to envy them. Oh, he had money too, but his money? It came at the CIA’s behest. Hell, this whole thing with the meds proved that. No normal person got dragged into their doctor’s office for a four-hour appointment because he was having a sleep problem. 

Jason watched as the young men walked off, still laughing, still having fun. He took a long sip of his Coke, then ate more French fries. How in hell had this happened? Him in this position. Sometimes—like now—it seemed like an unpleasant dream, one he couldn’t shake. All he’d wanted to do was help. Take out a few assholes like the ones who’d brought down the towers. Serve an honorable purpose like his dad. That’s all. And the truth is, they’d come to him. He’d been days from his discharge when a stranger popped up with an “invitation” to attend a meeting that might interest him. Operatives who’d work for the CIA. The guy never called it assassination, nor did he indicate that once Jason stuck his big toe into this particular pond he’d committed himself and there was no turning back.

Dropping the empty bratwurst container into a trashcan, Jason finished off the rest of the fries and the Coke, then stood up, walking toward the CIA building. Of course, at the time, it’d all seemed so cool, so perfect, the very thing that’d make him feel like he’d taken action against those terrorists who’d killed so many people. Only later did he learn how naïve he’d been. And that? It’s when the doors had closed for good, when he understood what he’d agreed to do, when the pain had begun.

Now that pain had only been magnified as he walked a thin line between truth and outright lying. When he’d listened to the playback of Michael’s time with the guys he’d met, some of it had been garbled. He wasn’t sure if that had to do with where Michael had his phone or with some other interference, but the software behaved like a radio signal that cut out many times. Still, he heard enough to know that those three guys were trying with all their might to get Michael to commit to running for president … of the U.S.A. _and_ Infernum. The latter very much had to do with the former, he knew. They’d spoken in clipped tones about a “cleaning job” they’d need to do and wanting to firm up those plans. That, Jason knew, had nothing to do with mops and brooms.

Upstairs, he got off the elevator on the sixth floor and headed down the hall. Speaking of abuse … A tall, unhappy man was standing outside his apartment. “You’re late,” he said, looking like a guy who thought his date had stiffed him.

“Sorry.” Jason grabbed his key card and slide it down the slot.

“No time for you to—” the guy said and put a hand on his shoulder.

Jason shrugged him off. “I have to take a piss.”

“No, you can’t.”

He was already halfway to the bathroom when the guy clamped a hand on his shoulder for a second time. Jerking around, he removed the guy’s hand and pinned his arm behind his back in a flash of anger that surprised him. “Let me take a piss or next time I’ll break it!” he said as he pushed the guy away. He stared into the idiot’s eyes. “And I’m taking a shower too, so feel free to join me.” The goon, thankfully, stood there, saying nothing.

He made it to this new section of the building twenty minutes later, hair still damp, surprised to find Conklin there when he opened the door. He’d been MIA this whole time. “Sir,” he said, polite, but not servile. Still pissed off, he wasn’t going to cower about being late.

“Where in hell have you been?”

“Taking a shower.” He looked back at the asset. “He tried to hurry me along, but I needed it and insisted.”

“And he couldn’t stop that?” Conklin asked.

Jason shrugged.

“All right.” With a quick gesture, he dismissed the guy, then turned to the other man in the room. “This is Dr. Jacobs. He’ll explain what we’re about to do.”

Jason looked around just to make sure there wasn’t a tank of water somewhere. Good, at least they couldn’t go that route. “Hi,” he said when the doctor came closer, shaking the guy’s hand. He noticed the object he held. “A VR headset?”

“Good, you know what it is.” Jacobs held up the device, which looked like a pricey version of the ones he’d seen among members of his team at Vérité. “Could you sit down over here?” he asked, indicating a nearby chair.

He sat in the chair, noting the restraints on the arms and a few wires that were attached to a computer. He looked up at Conklin, who stood close by, glowering.

“It’s not a torture device,” the deputy director said in what passed for humor.

“No, it isn’t,” Jacobs said as he stuck heart-monitor patches onto Jason’s chest before attaching the leads. “It’s an attempt to pinpoint what’s triggering you. That will help us determine what kind of medication would be most effective in helping you or even, perhaps, that something else would work better.”

It sounded like a lame attempt to justify Conklin’s suspicion that Jason was taking advantage of the free drugs, which he’d … what? Mainline after work or when he wasn’t being Michael’s boyfriend? Sell on the street? Jason wasn’t sure, but then, the whole thing only made sense in Conklin’s crazy brain. “So the VR will display what? Combat scenes?”

“A variety of scenes, both photos and video. Your response—heartbeat, respiration—will be noted on the computer along with whatever scene was being displayed.” Jacobs held up a hypodermic. “I’m going to give you a mild sedative so we can even the odds.”

He was here because Conklin thought he was a junkie, yet now he was getting a sedative? This whole thing didn’t sit well with him. As the needle stung his bicep, Jason felt a creepy artificial calm. The restraints went around his arms and his chest, although that one would supposedly monitor his respiration. Still, he was pretty hogtied, although without the sedative, he probably could’ve managed.

“Okay, let me adjust this,” the doctor said as he set the VR unit on his head, moving it around until Jason told him it fit. Then there were headphones. “This should take about twenty minutes,” Jacobs said before Jason heard the audio hum in his ears.

Video sprang to life. Beautiful, peaceful vistas. Birds chirping. Tree branches swaying in a gentle rush of air. Cars cruising down small-town main street. With a jerk, Jason recognized everything that appeared, one after the other. It was Nixa. His hometown. Nixa, where he’d been born. When downtown Nixa faded away, the video changed to photos. He recognized McCauley Park, the junior high school where he first met Eric, the paramedics building he’d toured one time with his elementary school class, the Nixa Church of Christ, a field where he played Little League, lots of places, every single one with a memory attached. He had a feeling, though, that these lovely scenes wouldn’t last.

Boot camp arrived with a sweeping vista of new recruits all in a line, each one scared by the commitment they’d made. Grizzled sergeants, whose normal tone of voice was enough to permanently injure eardrums, made it worse. Miles and miles of walking, running, pushups, scrubbing endless floors followed. Hikes with heavy packs, grueling hikes that left nasty blisters, sore backs, sunburned noses. Freezing nights outside walking the perimeter as punishment. The images flashed in front of Jason, the sounds making all of it very real. His heart rate increased.

When the combat came, he wasn’t ready. One after another, explosions ripped apart the sky as people were turned into bloody blobs of hamburger, as fire filled the air, as new craters gouged the earth. Guns of all shapes and sizes spit out their fury while people screamed, swore, died. Rocket launchers tore through the air, endless hellfire tearing across the sky. Blood flowed, gushed, pooled, sprayed everywhere and on everyone, severed limbs, men screaming, cursing, crying, collapsing, dying. Medics staunched blood, wound bandages around injuries, murmured reassurances while the firefight continued around them. Close-up shots of the men’s faces exposed terror as well as the blank expression of death. 

It was horrible, but Jason wasn’t triggered though his heart beat even faster and his breathing increased. The audio increased thanks to more explosions and gunfire, more screaming and cursing, more everything. He grew tenser as that happened, hands gripping the arms of the chair as the sounds of war assaulted him.

A sudden flash transformed the screen. Jason gasped at what he saw. _Him._ It was him, on the floor, naked and bound, three feral men standing over him like wolves ready to snack on their kill. _Him_ , helpless, groaning as one of the men, with a savage smirk, held up a—

The image vanished.

More screaming, more yelling, more combat assaulted him. As it did, Jason struggled to process what’d happened, what that image meant, how something like that—whatever it was—could exist. He had no memory of it. It could not have happened, and yet, it must’ve, it had been him, he knew it’d been him. The CIA liked to tape torture scenes in order to “teach” other agents while they terrified new prisoners. In a black ops site, it’d be unremarkable. God, god, god! Even more frightening? The memory seemed to be fading away even as he thought about it. Jason hung onto the chair as if his life depended upon, as if he could hang onto the image that way. Something. What was that? Something that was so terrible, so horrific that even the thought of it felt like a bullet to the brain.

Then it happened again. Him, naked and bound, the men all around, something horrible going on, something that—

With a violent stream of curses, Jason grew stiff all over, shaking with involuntary spasms as the image dissolved once again. Throwing back his head, he struggled to speak, to say something, to articulate what he’d seen, but all that came out was a keening sound that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

As the flashback began, his version of that horrific scene appeared, his images overlaid by the images still on the VR screen. “No, no, no!” he screamed as he began to rock the chair back and forth, as he fought to get out of the restraints, as he pushed with his feet to overturn the chair so he could dislodge the VR.

Hands restrained him as both men yelled, but he was stronger.

With a violent upward jerk, Jason snapped both restraints, careening forward as if demons from hell were pursuing him. When he hit the floor, his right hand bent at an unnatural angle, and he screamed again.

An instant later, his eyes closed and he fell into a merciful unconsciousness.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Fourteen**

Still half-asleep, Jason lay face down on his bed and had no desire to move or even think. Thanks to the injuries he’d sustained when he’d gone all ninja on Conklin and that doctor with the VR set back in Berlin, he’d been drugged like never before. Ironic? Yes. Even more ironic was that Conklin had agreed the flashback episodes were a problem and had arranged for Jason to get a steady supply of necessary medications from now on. Almost as if he was an actual human being.

The biggest irony, though, was also the most fucked: he had no memory of what’d happened. None. Yep, just like when he’d had what he assumed to be that exact same memory with Graeme and the subsequent exact same freak-out, the memory was nowhere to be found. Which? Creepy. As if somehow someone had managed to … what? Program him that way? Give him some kind of suggestion that whatever that horrific memory was, it’d go pouf the moment he remembered it? Something he couldn’t even imagine. And that person had to be either Conklin or someone working for the deputy director. 

Now he had a bandage on his forehead where he’d hit the floor and a splint on his right hand thanks to a couple of broken bones. Yeah, he was in great shape. If there were any positives it was that today was Saturday, so he didn’t have to go to work. He’d come in on the CIA Express late last night, a CIA asset with him every step of the way. The guy, who’d been Hulk-size, had said little, but escorted him to and from the plane, into the waiting car, and into his apartment building. He’d nodded when Jason unlocked the door, then walked away, which had been a relief. Not that it made any sense for the guy to bring him home only to put a bullet in his head, but, yeah, it was the CIA so anything was possible.

With a sigh, Jason turned over, wincing when he put pressure on his hand. Count your blessings, right? Sure, that was easy. He made a face, took a breath, and searched for a positive thought. Okay, at least Conklin believed him now about the flashback episodes. Of course, that was because the doctor had somehow caused them. Nice going, motherfucker. Still, he had his own prescriptions at a Parisian pharmacy as well as two local doctors to see. One would look after the hand and the other, Dr. Moreau, was a colleague of Dr. Jacobs in Berlin who’d monitor the PTSD issues. Jason didn’t have a lot of hope that he’d be “cured,” but the other great thing was that he had a solid cover for everything. 

When he’d headed to Berlin, Michael had been in Phoenix, giving a speech. Jason had texted him that he’d been referred to an excellent PTSD doctor in that city by an Army buddy. That whole thing was already old news to his lover, who texted back his excitement that maybe they’d find a better solution for him. Now? If Michael was curious, he’d be able to give him the doctor’s name. He’d also be able to describe what happened: the VR headset, the images he’d seen, the flashback that’d gripped him, and, yes, the fact that he couldn’t describe the triggering event. Conklin had somehow, by a miracle, seen the need to give Jason leave to tell the truth. And Doctor Moreau would back that up. 

Also great was that the knot on his forehead and the splint on his hand would be easily explained to Michael. He didn’t have to use his awesome lying skills to fool the man. That made Jason sigh. Okay, another good thing. He would go over to his place in a few hours and be honest.

The weirdest thing was how much he wanted to see Michael. He remembered well the sympathy and care he’d gotten from the man when he’d shown up with his messed-up face. Plus, there’d been that incident in the mountain cottage. Those moments? Even if he wanted to believe he was the big, bad spy who needed nothing and no one, the truth, which he’d long understood, was that he was as human as anyone else. All of this? It sucked. The thing that sucked the most was not only that he couldn’t break free from Treadstone, but that they’d done something horrible to him and he had no idea what it was. So Michael? He was the comforting presence that he’d lacked for a long, long time. Hell, he’d been on his own since he was seventeen. Although, in a way, he’d been on his own since his dad left and never came back. Sure, he had his mom and later, his grandmother, but he’d pretty much been _their_ comfort most of the time. So …

With a groan, Jason knew he needed to stop. This was his life and the only out he had was what people liked to call the final solution: eat his gun. Right now? Despite how horrible he felt, he wasn’t ready to make that move. Nope. So get up, idiot! Take a shower, shave, get dressed, be a human again. He’d see Michael soon enough and that? It’d be a good thing.

And yet … he didn’t move a muscle.

§ § §

Nicky decided to call Jason. She was worried and she knew he was probably back at his place, so …

Conklin had called to let her know that Jason would no longer be getting meds from her. When she’d wanted to know why, he told her about the pharmacy and the doctors, although he skipped over the part about _why_ he had two new doctors in Paris. That made her worry even more.

She figured he was exhausted, since she knew how Conklin operated, so she’d decided to wait and see if he called her. Then he didn’t and she got anxious. She tried texting, but he didn’t return any of her messages. Damn!

So she called him. He didn’t answer, so she tried again. She knew if that kept up her next move was to go to his place and she didn’t want to do that. That’s when she called again and then again.

“Hi, Nicky,” he said when he finally picked up. “Sorry, I was in the shower.”

He sounded drugged … or maybe depressed, she wasn’t sure. “Hi, Jason. Are you okay?”

“Oh, Conklin called you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m … well, not exactly fine, but okay. Rough couple of days, but I’m … okay.”

She didn’t like what she was hearing. What the fuck had they done to him? “Have you eaten anything? I could bring you over soup if—”

“That’s sounds great, but I have to go over to Michael’s place. He’s expecting me.”

“Oh, God, what are you going to tell him?”

“The truth, mostly. He already knows about the PTSD issues. Conklin gave me an alibi that explains my hand and the bump on my head.”

“Your hand?” she asked on a rising inflection.

“Long story. It’s broken, but it’s not too bad.” Jason laughed, although he didn’t sound amused. “I have more meds then I know what to do with.”

“Oh, Jason …” The tears in her eyes were real, but she brushed them aside. “Okay, well I’m sure Michael will take good care of you. How about I check back with you tomorrow? Maybe I can bring you something then.”

“I’d love that, especially if it was homemade.”

That made her smile. “Taking advantage, are we?”

“Completely.”

She wanted to go over to his place in the worst possible way just to give him a kiss. How the guy managed to stay on his feet with all the shit flying around him she didn’t know. “Okay, well I’ll check my cookbook tonight.”

“Uh, look under the ‘Beef Stew’ section.”

She laughed. “You got it!”

They talked a few more minutes, but then he had to get ready to go see his boyfriend, so she let him go. Afterwards, she sat there, concerned, wondering what had happened that he had a splint on his hand. She chewed on her lower lip. Poor Jason.

§ § §

Just before Jason left his apartment, he had a text from Michael. He was going to take a short nap. If Jason arrived, Michael told him to please come on in. Jason checked to make sure he’d put the key Michael gave him on his keychain, then left. It was around 3:00. Maybe they could nap together. God knows, he needed it.

He arrived at Michael’s gorgeous house about a half-hour later, pulling out his keychain as he went up the steps. He knew the security code on the keypad inside the door, so if the thing was armed, that wouldn’t be a problem either. With great care, he unlocked the door and checked the keypad, which wasn’t blinking. Closing the door and locking it, he moved toward Michael who was on the couch, sleeping on one side, shoes off, eyes closed. 

Jason didn’t hesitate. Toeing off his shoes, he eased himself onto the couch until he was face-to-face with Michael.

Michael opened his eyes and gave him a sleepy smile. “Hi.”

Jason put his arms around Michael’s neck, planting soft kisses everywhere. He inched closer until he was snuggled up against the man, holding him tight. Right then, the whole ugly mess seemed to rise up in him again. Not meaning to, he shivered.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Blinking, Michael pulled back to take a better look at his lover. He saw the bandage on the side of Jason’s head. “What happened?” he asked with alarm.

Jason touched his head with the only hand he had available: the one with the splint on it. “I had a little accident at the doctor’s office.”

“Jason, your hand!”

“I’m okay, Michael.”

But Michael was taking another look. “Poor baby! You look wiped out!” He pulled Jason closer. “Here, just relax. You can tell me later. You’re all right, aren’t you? Those injuries were treated?”

With his head resting against Michael’s shoulder, Jason managed a nod. He wanted to explain all of it, but at the moment, Michael’s strong arm and amazing concern had taken his breath away. Pushing a bit closer, he gave up any desire to be the strong, competent guy he’d always been, although even that wasn’t true.

Michael held him tight, rubbing his back with his free hand as he gave him the occasional kiss. Neither of them spoke again for at least a half-hour.

Later, Michael slipped out of Jason’s grasp to heat up the minestrone soup he’d made. The incredible aroma woke Jason from his second—or was it _third_?—nap of the day. “Oh, God that smells awesome,” he murmured as he rubbed his eyes. Getting off the couch, he stumbled down the hall to use the facilities. 

When he returned, Michael had the table set and the soup, along with bread, already in place. “Let me take another look at you,” he said, hands on Jason’s shoulders before he hugged him again. “Jason, I worry about you.”

Jason slipped his good hand around Michael’s waist. “It’s nice that someone is.”

“You’ll tell me how this happened?”

“I will.”

They sat down, but Michael realized right away that it was Jason’s right hand that was the problem. With a smile, he moved himself and his meal closer, buttering bread for Jason and relocating his sparking water so he could get to it easily. Then he scooped up soup to feed him.

“Michael—”

“Would you feed me if I had a busted hand?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then don’t make me resort to one of the tactics I used with my son when he wouldn’t eat his vegetables.” He made a sound that was supposed to be an airplane. “Here comes the jet! Open up the hanger!”

Smiling, Jason opened his mouth. “Oh, God, this is so good,” he said as the sausage and savory vegetables hit his taste buds. “I’m really hungry.”

“Good. Your job is to take a bite of bread and sip your water. We’ll work in tandem.”

And that’s what they did. You wouldn’t think they’d be able to talk given such an arrangement, but they did. Jason told Michael the whole story of the VR set, the headphones, and all the disturbing video he’d been exposed to, only leaving out the bit that’d triggered him … not hard given that he didn’t remember it. 

“I don’t understand,” Michael said at one point as he spooned more soup into Jason’s mouth. “If they’d strapped you down, how did you end up with the injuries?”

“I broke free.” Jason took another sip of water. “I’d been triggered and, in that state, I was in no mood for anything. I jerked hard enough to free myself, but that forward momentum made me slam onto the floor.” He rolled his eyes. “Not my brightest moment.”

“You’d been triggered. They should’ve accounted for that.” Michael gave him more soup. “I guess they didn’t think anyone was that strong.”

“I guess.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes, then Michael leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “You’re upset by this whole thing.”

Jason managed a weak smile. “I’m tired of it all. I’d like to put Afghanistan and everything that happened in the rearview mirror.”

Michael poured them both more water, then scooped more soup. “Of course you would. The whole thing … it proves once again that even if your side wins the war, the price we all pay is in the shattered lives of the men and women who serve.” Michael gave his head an emphatic shake. “It’s too high a price.”

“And yet, as predictable as the sun rising every morning.”

“Yeah.”

After another full bowl of soup and more bread, Jason was finally full. As Michael cleaned up, Jason tried to help with his good hand, but Michael shook his head and pointed at Jason’s chair so he sat back down. A few moments later, Michael came to sit next to Jason again, taking his good hand. “Two things. One, sex is off the table unless it’s something you want and even then, it’d have to be the gentle kind that wouldn’t aggravate your wounds. Two, how about if I draw a warm bath and we sit in there together?”

Jason had to smile at how Michael’s mind worked. “Doing it in the bathtub wouldn’t work well with number one.”

“God, no. Way too dangerous for a man with only one hand and a foggy brain.”

Jason had been in that tub before and given its mega size, knew there was plenty of room. “I might fall asleep.”

“I’ll get you out of there if that happens, never fear.”

Jason liked that answer. “Okay, sure, let’s do it. I can’t promise I won’t get a boner.”

“I can’t either.”

“Okay, I like it!”

§ § §

Once they were in the tub, Michael worked to help Jason relax. Despite the medication, he held a lot of tension in his body, but the warm water seemed to help. With Jason sitting between his legs, he massaged his shoulders and arms, then helped him remove the splint and wash the hand, which was quite bruised and still swollen. Then he washed Jason’s face, avoiding the knot on his forehead. “You’re a mess,” he told him with a smile.

“A problem child?”

“With me? Sometimes, yes. I guess I can’t help myself.”

“I’m not complaining.” Jason twisted around to kiss him on the lips. “I happen to think you’re terrific.”

“Ditto. I just wish you’d stop with the injuries.”

“God, me too. This sucks.”

“Lay back against me. I want you to relax.” Jason was still staring at him. “What?” he asked finally.

Jason’s gaze dropped and color came into his cheeks. “I just … I guess I’m very glad I’m part of your life.”

Michael reached out to stroke his cheek. “Me too. I’m … I-I love you, Jason. I hope you know that,” he said, not sure this was the right moment.

Jason looked back up. “Me too, Michael. I love you and think you’re pretty damn amazing. I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

They stared for an instant and then Michael moved closer to give him a soft kiss. “We’re so romantic,” he murmured and splashed up water with one hand. “In the tub, no less!” he said, but his heart was beating fast and, God, he was happy!

“I’ll smash my hand any time if it leads to this,” Jason murmured.

Michael shook a finger at him. “You will not! Enough is enough.” He made a whirling motion with an upraised finger. “Now turn around and lean against me while I jerk you off.”

“Yes, sir.” Jason complied, chuckling under his breath. “Wow, talk about a mixed message.”

That made Michael grin. “Some parts of the media have been trying to pin something on me for a long time. Maybe this will do it!” He reached around Jason and grasped his cock. “Might as well be as guilty as possible.”

Jason drew in a sharp breath. “Yeah, I can see the headline now: ‘Michael Catalano Guilty in Molestation of Thirty-Two-Year-Old Man!’”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Oh, God, that feels good.”

Michael kissed the back of Jason’s neck. “Hang on, my love. And keep that hand still.”

Jason didn’t say a word.

§ § §

Once they were in bed, Jason’s earlier feelings had been pretty much eliminated. Thanks to not one, but _two_ sexual encounters, he was doing fine, all the anger and anxiety drained out of him thanks to Michael’s expert touch. And not just the sex. The tender words they’d exchanged hadn’t hurt either. He’d been warmed by what Michael said and what he said in return … which wasn’t a lie. He did love Michael, very much. It seemed like the craziest thing that’d ever turned up in his universe, but there it was, all too real. And right now? He wasn’t questioning it, he wasn’t predicting disaster, he was accepting it for what it was: the truth. They loved each other. The end.

Jason sighed, turning on his right side so Michael could spoon with him. Two silly gay guys, right? Two guys in love. “Good night,” he whispered, feeling foolish and happy at the same time.

“Good night, Jason.” Michael kissed his neck. “Sleep tight. If you have any problems or need anything, wake me, okay?”

“Okay.” Jason smiled, feeling very sappy and right now? He didn’t care. No, not at all.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Fifteen**

At work on Monday, Jason spent the first hour behaving like a lovesick teenager. Thank God he was alone in his office where no one could see him, because he had to believe he’d regressed to age fourteen. In fact, the only thing he _wasn’t_ doing was drawing hearts on his textbook or writing “Jason Catalano” over and over again. Oh, my God!

Let’s face it: Michael was amazing. That’s what he thought now more than ever. The tender care he’d shown over the weekend was something he’d been without for a long time and it’d been succor to his soul. Yes, he felt like a complete wuss because that’s not how a killing machine should behave, ever. Yet, there it was. He loved Michael and Michael seemed to feel the same. It was … all of it was weird as fuck, but also wonderful in a totally unexpected way. 

As he went through his morning emails, he pondered this without coming to any conclusions. Was he in the gay camp now? A homosexual where once he’d considered himself the opposite? Or was Michael an anomaly, a once in a lifetime thing? Like falling in love with someone on a desert island or in prison. 

Jason gave his head a firm shake, then looked up to make sure no one was outside of his office, watching the crazy man. That’s what he felt like. Crazy. Of course, Treadstone/Conklin had something to do with that, but they’d never take responsibility and even if they would, he wasn’t about to tell them. God, no! They’d pull him off the case in a heartbeat and say he’d lost his objectivity. Fuck, they should’ve thought of that before they concocted this whole thing.

With a sigh, Jason re-focused his attention on the email, answering a few, deleting others. He pulled up a list one of his guys needed, attached it to an email, and send it off. Time to get in gear. He’d missed work last week thanks to the nonsense in Berlin and had a lot of catching up to do. Rubbing his bad hand, which was making typing a real bitch, Jason got to work.

Around an hour later, he noticed that he had an alert on his phone, one that showed up if there was new info posted in the cloud from the spyware. Michael had kept his phone off most of Saturday and Sunday, so it had to be something from today. He decided to take a late lunch and listen to it in his car. Usually, he could skip through a lot of conversations because they had nothing to do with Infernum. 

The next few hours proved tense and frustrating. They had a problem with one of the supercomputers that threatened to flat-out quit on them. Those didn’t come cheap, so if one became dysfunctional, well, that wouldn’t be good at all. And it was frustrating because Jason only had one hand and had to leave the actual work to his crew. When they were able to get the thing resolved, it was well after lunchtime, but he sent them all to eat and take a break while he did the same. 

With lunch in hand, he drove over to a nearby park and sat on a bench in one obscure corner. Eating the second half of a large sandwich that’d been a poor choice for a guy with only one hand, Jason used ear buds as he listened to Michael. Just as he knew, most of the conversations were boring and routine discussions about Vérité or other work-related issues. There was one personal call, to his daughter, which Jason skipped over. She wasn’t in the States, working somewhere in South America with Michael’s sister, Bridget. Not easy for them to get together what with Michael also being so far away for the family. It was a good thing that his relationship with the man was a secret. It would’ve been awful if he had to listen to Michael talking about _him._

Jason was smiling at that idea when Michael made a call to Gustavo Edwards, the guy he’d identified from the photos he took, the guy who’d worked in the White House for Charles Catalano. Edwards had spent a lot of time during that meeting attempting to convince Michael that he needed to “come onboard.” They needed him, he was the perfect fit for Infernum (although they never used that name), no one could replace him and on and on. Jason wasn’t sure what Edwards’ role in the organization was, but he’d spent a lot of time at that meeting talking about Michael’s dad and how much Michael was like him. He wanted to recruit Michael, that much seemed clear. Jason lowered his sandwich as Michael called what must have been Edwards’s cell phone.

_“Gustavo?” Michael said in a cheery voice when the man answered. “It’s Michael.”_

_“Michael, how good to hear from you. I enjoyed our time together last week.” Edwards had a deep, melodious voice that made him sound like presidential material, but, from what Jason had been able to dig up online, the man was a behind-the-scenes guy. “You have more questions about our discussion? Do we have a secure connection?”_

_“We do. We can speak freely.”_

_Hmm, interesting. How had Michael gotten a secure line?_

_“Glad to hear it. I’m not a fan of spies.”_

_“Me neither. Look, you know how you were talking about the numerous GPs coming up? Ones that’d been instituted during Cat1 or Cat2?”_

_Like most secret organizations, Infernum had their own language. Jason had figured out that Cat1 and Cat2 were shorthand for the two Catalanos who’d headed the organization: Michael’s dad, Charles, and his grandfather, Edward. GPs? He wasn’t sure._

_“You seemed interested in that. I noticed.”_

_“I like that aspect of the organization. It shows thoroughness and a degree of planning that’s almost unprecedented,” Michael said, his voice dropping to a tone of seriousness. Jason knew he liked order, structuring every move, staying on schedule, which is one reason he was happy with Jason’s work._

_“I think that’s a big reason the organization has been courting you so aggressively. Yes, you’ve got the name and that’s important, but to be frank, your dad never had the skills you have in terms of running a business. During his time in Washington, he depended on his staff to produce a great deal of what got done. You don’t have that problem. The GPs, especially, can use that.”_

_“Oh, I have my moments, but thank you. Uh, can we get together? I’ll be in New York on the 7th and I’d love to have a discussion with everyone, if possible.”_

_“I can do that. Does this mean … I’m hoping this means you’re ready to make a commitment?”_

_Michael chuckled. “I think you may have deduced that correctly.”_

With a sharp intake of air, Jason dropped his sandwich on the ground. Shit, shit, shit. He groped to pause the playback, jerking the ear buds out of his ears as he struggled to catch his breath. God, no! He wasn’t hearing this! Michael couldn’t be saying that he’d changed his mind. Back at that meeting, Edwards had asked him to become the head of Infernum and, soon enough, to run for president. Michael couldn’t be agreeing to that. He couldn’t! He’d told Edwards he wanted nothing to do with Infernum. Why would he change his mind? It’d destroy everything.

Stunned, Jason stared at the people in the park, not seeing any of them. No, this couldn’t be right. How had Michael make such a decision? It’d always been rumored that Infernum, in one way or another, had its enemies murdered. If that was true, and Michael meant what he’d said, it made him as bad as the terrorists that’d taken down the towers. No! He wasn’t that guy, he couldn’t be. Michael had compassion, he treated people with courtesy, he was gentle and caring. That was one reason Jason loved him.

Crushed by what he’d heard, Jason dropped his head, staring at his hands as he struggled to control his emotions. Tears formed in his eyes, but he willed them away. Don’t be a complete wuss. Shit, what did he expect? He wasn’t in a real relationship and if that’s what he’d thought, _he_ was the idiot. Michael already had deep ties with Infernum thanks to his father and grandfather. This was what everyone expected … everyone except him. Which made him an idiot, a gullible fool who didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground.

He grabbed the sandwich wrap and scooped up the sandwich remains, slamming it into the trashcan. Looking around, he wanted something to punch or stomp, somewhere he could shout and curse, but fuck it all, he was in public and he had an image to uphold. Grinding his teeth, he knew he needed to get under control, but, no, fuck it, he didn’t want to. If this was what was going to happen, he didn’t know why anything mattered. If Michael did what he said he’d do, it was over. His job, the surveillance, his relationship with the man, all of it. Over. He’d tell Conklin about Michael and then? 

Jason kicked the trashcan so hard he knocked it over. Turning away, he headed for his car, those same tears threatening. They’d take him out. No one was doing to let Michael become the head of what was essentially a terrorist organization operating in the United States. Sure, they could give the case to the FBI, get evidence, present that to a grand jury, arrest Michael, convict him, throw him in jail for the rest of his life. So what? It’d be the same outcome. Someone would find a way to take him out in prison. He was dead. One way or another, he was dead. Thanks to Jason. He might as well get his Glock and put a bullet in the man’s head. Same thing. Exact same thing and maybe a lot more merciful.

His cell phone rang. He jerked it out of his pocket and it almost slipped from his hand. “Yes?” he said as he answered, assuming it was someone from work.

“Jason? It’s Nicky.”

“Hi.”

“You sound upset.”

“What do you want?” he snapped.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t talk right now.”

“Okay. Uh, can I come over tonight to fix that beef stew? We need to talk.”

At the moment, food was repugnant, but … “Talk about what?”

“Stuff.”

She wasn’t on a secure line. “Let me come to your place,” he said, paranoid as hell. Would Conklin get wind of Michael’s move before he could tell him? If so, he needed to stay away from Nicky, just in case, although … Conklin already knew they talked. Shit. He was freaking out and it was not how he’d been trained. He knew how to stay calm, how to think things through. Inhaling, he tried to clear his mind, to steady his breathing. “Okay, sure. I’ll bring dessert. What time?”

“7:00.”

“That’s sounds great. I’ll see you then.”

Nicky sounded like she wanted a lot more information, but she kept her peace and said good-bye.

At his car, Jason got inside, started the motor, and headed back to Vérité. Somehow, he had to get through his day, talk to people, be “normal.” How he was going to do that he had no idea, but, okay, yes, he had fucking been trained for this stuff. Get it together, Jason. Now.

§ § §

The beef stew had been set to a low temperature on a backburner. The table had been set, the silverware in place, the napkins folded. There was even an unlit candle with artificial flowers around it in the middle of the table. All that was left was her guest. Standing in her kitchen, Nicky couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Jason had sounded upset when she’d spoken to him a few hours ago. Very upset. She still had no idea what’d happened to him in Berlin last week or if he’d seen Michael since his return. Still, she had that growing sense of doom, as if things were falling into place and they’d affect Jason in negative ways. At least part of that had to do with her job. Things often went sideways in the CIA and, yes, that could mean that people died. On good days, those people were bad guys who got what they deserved. Sometimes, though, a good guy got taken out and that? It was always heartbreaking. God knows, she’d seen it many times.

“Oh, stop!” Nicky said to no one, walking back to the stew to give it a stir. Of course, she couldn’t stop the worrying, not until she saw Jason and heard what happened, not until she told him what she knew. And, yeah, she knew things now that worried her even more.

God, why had she thought it’d be cool to work for the CIA? It seemed so glamorous at the time, but that? It no longer mattered. And “cool”? She made a rude sound. Not. At. All.

The sharp knock at the door made her jump. Jason, finally. Composing herself, she went to the door and opened it. “Hi,” she said, making instant note of his less-than-happy demeanor. Pale, his face seemed pinched as if that were the only way to hold back the emotions lurking beneath that problematic surface. She hugged him tight. “How are you?”

He returned the hug, then kissed the side of her face. “Hi,” he said and, yes, the tone was not good.

Nicky took his hand and pulled him onto the couch, sticking close as they settled down, still holding his hand. That’s when she noticed the brace on his other hand. “Is that … from Berlin?” she asked, wanting to uncork the story, although she knew it was probably painful.

He looked at the hand as if he’d forgotten it existed. “Yeah. They did a thing with a VR headset, trying to figure out what triggered me.” 

He paused to breath and she could see the unhappiness swimming in his eyes along with … fear? Jason was afraid? That was—

“Whatever triggered me caused me to pull free from the restraints and lunge toward the floor.” He held up the hand. “Broke a few bones.”

Nicky shook her head, noting the bruise on his forehead. “That’s awful. What was the thing you saw?”

Jason’s demeanor darkened even more. “I have no idea. I never remember it.”

Oh, God. Nicky’s gut tightened. “Jason? Didn’t you tell me that there’s a gap in your memory? A period of time you can’t account for, one that starts while you’re still in New York?”

“I did.”

“Do you think the memory that keeps coming up might be from that time?”

Jason took another deep breath. “It makes sense. All the water torture in New York provides me with plenty of flashback episodes, but maybe it got worse and I don’t know … don’t remember any of it.”

Okay, just tell him. No use beating around the bush. “I … I’ve been doing a lot of work, trying to figure out a few things. Talking to people, hacking, reading news reports, that kind of thing. I’ll explain, but, uh, one of the things I managed to discover when I hacked into a few places is that … “She took a deep breath, hating what she had to say. “… uh, well, it’s that you spent six weeks in a black ops site somewhere in Europe.”

Jason expression didn’t change, but she saw his eyes darken. “Not, I’m assuming, as a paid guest.”

“No.”

He let go of her hand. “This day gets better and better.”

“I’m sorry, Jason.”

“You didn’t do anything, Nicky. I-I appreciate knowing this stuff.” He looked around her apartment as if wanting to ground himself in its reality. “All kinds of horrible shit goes on in those places.”

“I know.”

Jason ran a tongue over his lower lip. “So it could’ve … the flashback could come from my time there, a time I don’t remember, probably because it was so bad.”

“I know.”

“What made you curious enough to hack into CIA servers? That’s pretty fucking dangerous.”

Nicky got up and went to the refrigerator, returning with water for them both. She sat close to him again as she told him about Graeme: seeing him coming out of Jason’s building, how he’d hacked into Conklin’s computer, the music files he’d been interested in, all of it. “I have a friend who works at Langley. She has a friend who knew Graeme. She told me he might say he’s an analyst, but he always seems to be snooping, that he wanted to be an operative like you, but didn’t have the guts for it.” She shrugged. “Maybe that’s how he is, but—”

“Lately, he’s given me a bad vibe. I wondered about that all along, although it’s became more apparent once we’d gotten past the sex part.” Jason uncapped his water and took a swig. “This is … it’s awful. All of it. A fucking mess and you don’t know the half of it.”

Then Nicky listened as Jason told her how Conklin had given him cover for his injuries in Berlin: doctors in Paris, meds from local pharmacies, the truth about what happened. All of that to make it legit so that Michael didn’t wonder again why Jason kept getting injured. Fortunately, Michael had seen the flashbacks first-hand. “So when Michael invited me over on Saturday, I went.”

“Because no lying was involved.”

“Not about the whole flashback thing, no. I’d told him that a friend from the Army gave me this doctor’s name.” Jason looked like the last thing he wanted to do was talk about this stuff, but was forcing himself. “So he … Michael was great. Very concerned, tender, soothing. He’d fixed this great dinner and we … well, we had a terrific night, a-a terrific weekend.” Jason took a deep breath and tried to speak, failing the first time. “We said we loved one another,” he managed, but the tone told Nicky something bad was coming, something so bad it’d put an arrow through the heart of this tender commitment. 

“What happened?” she asked him as she took his hand, expecting a story about how they had this terrible fight, although this seemed minor … whatever it was, it was bad. 

Jason stared at her and she saw those tears in his eyes. “Earlier, I was listening to what my spyware recorded and-and I found a conversation Michael had today with Gustavo Edwards.”

Nicky gasped. “The Infernum guy?”

Jason nodded. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Michael told him he was ready to make the leap, to-to join Infernum,” he told her, those tears shining in his eyes. “He wants to do it, Nicky. He wants to become their leader.”

With a sharp intake of air, Nicky put her arms around Jason, pulling him close. Oh, God, fucking God. Jason never believed Michael Catalano was that guy and yet, he was? He wanted to be the head of a crazy, terrorist organization? Really? And that revelation? It’d almost broken Jason into a crumpled mess of anguished pieces, a human wreck no one would be able to put together again. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as she held onto him. “God, Jason. So, so sorry!”


	16. Chapter Sixteen

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Sixteen**

Friday, after what had to be one of the longest weeks of his life, Jason sat with his team at a catered lunch, part of a celebration Michael had planned. He tried to act normal and not be the guy who’d gotten little more than three or four hours of sleep every night since Monday, but felt like taking a nose dive into his steak. Talking with the members of his team, he’d done a passable job of making sure to praise each one for the contribution they’d made that’d led to this moment. And that? It was the completion of Phase One of their project, which meant —ta da!—that they were halfway there.

Other than the time he’d spent in the training center in New York, these last four days had been the most difficult of his life ... at least, days that he remembered. He didn’t know what to do about, well, everything. It seemed as if he was hemmed in on all sides, because he had no good choices. Michael was going to New York and so far, no one except Nicky knew about the decision he’d made. And that didn’t even cover all the other stuff that’d been raining down on him like an obnoxious shit storm.

“Jason?” 

He looked over his shoulder to see April, Michael’s EA. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She leaned down, her hair falling forward as it gave off its sweet scent. “He’ll be down in ten minutes. He wants you to give him an introduction.”

Oh, terrific. “Okay, sure. Thanks. I’ll do that.” 

She gave his shoulder a squeeze as she turned away.

To orient himself, Jason looked around at all the people he’d come to know as they worked this gig. Sonny, who’d gotten his first leg-up with this job and was now in school, working toward his degree. Irma, who loved programming almost more than anything except her two-year-old daughter. Rhea, who spent her days keeping the systems happy, but who always had time to whip up a batch of chocolate-chip cookies for the gang. And, of course, Gerard, his number two guy. Without Gerard, he knew he would have been looking for a new job many times. All good people, all people he cared about. Yet, here he sat, being “normal” while his life moved closer and closer to a catastrophe that’d rock his world and theirs. They’d be surprised, wouldn’t they? To discover that their quiet leader was actually one of those guys John Le Carré or Robert Ludlum wrote about. A spy. A fucking spy who had the power to end another man’s life.

And that life? It might be his.

On the dot, at 2:00, Jason saw Michael standing outside this private dining area. His heart lurched at the sight, but he rose to his feet and managed to give a positive and appreciative introduction to the man, who came to shake his left hand a little awkwardly as everyone rose to their feet, applauding. Fortunately, they always maintained a strict business demeanor with one another, so Jason sat back down with only a moment’s eye contact. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, what was he going to do?

As Michael talked, Jason kept losing that thread as he went back to all the problems that’d cropped up like a swarm of killer bees since Monday. Michael, of course, was the thing that kept him awake at night, but there’d also been that little revelation from Nicky. Little? Shit, he’d been in a black ops site? For six fucking weeks? That explained so much. Not that he remembered any of it, but he did have one distinct memory.

One morning at the training center in New York, he’d woken up in a nice, comfy bed. Very confused. What had happened to the ratty room with a mattress on the floor and a toilet that doubled as a sink? That’d been where he’d been housed from the minute he’d joined Treadstone. This particular bed had been soft, clean, and in a room that not only featured a complete bathroom, but a mini bar with water, OJ, fruit, even a couple of candy bars. The first twenty-four hours, though, he’d spent his time drifting into a deep sleep, then waking up, amazed all over again. He couldn’t seem to get beyond that. Dr. Hirsch had come in at one point, checked him out, and given him an injection. After that, he’d slept again. For days, in fact, like someone who’d run not one, but several marathons and needed a lot of time to recuperate. Black ops site? A place of horrors where torture wouldn’t leave a mark? He’d slept without dreams, gotten IV support, and, eventually, food. Lots of food. Trays with scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, juice, pancakes. Food like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Hamburgers, French fries, milkshakes, lasagna, spaghetti, mac and cheese, steak. Fattening foods because … yeah, he’d lost a lot of weight. Black ops sites weren’t known for their cuisine. No one, though, had said word one about where he’d been. Not a peep. 

When Sonny nudged him, Jason realize Michael had said his name. “Thinking about Phase Two already, Jason?” he asked as Jason tuned in. “Come on up here.”

Jason stood up, walked around the tables, and came to stand next to Michael, looking a little sheepish. Michael laid a hand on his shoulder and extolled his virtues before the crowd, doing it was such passion that Jason blushed. Oh, God, don’t, Michael, don’t!

“Thank you, sir,” he said to the man when he’d finished and they shook hands again. “Just doing my job.”

“And doing it with an excellence that has inspired us all.” Michael, who looked like he’d been sleeping fine, shook a finger at Jason. “Don’t tell Brash, but I have every intention of stealing you away from his organization the minute Phase Two ends.”

The room erupted in applause, Jason managed to smile, and after a while, the event came to a merciful end. 

Back in his office, Jason didn’t know what he wanted more: a nap or something more permanent like a bullet in his brain. This was spiraling out of control and he appeared to be the only person who knew it.

Correction. He checked his phone and saw a number of text messages from Nicky, who’d been worried all week. He tried to assure her he was fine, although it was a load of bullshit. Right then he got a text from Michael, who was planning a Friday night meal with him for later that evening. Jason had no idea how he’d do that, but with any luck he’d get hit by a car on his way over to Michael’s place. They texted back and forth for an instant, then Michael said he’d see him at seven.

Jason sat down in his chair and didn’t move, hands clenched into fists. Paralyzed.

§ § §

Still at work a little after five, Nicky didn’t know what to do to help Jason. She knew he was freaking out, that he hadn’t been sleeping, that the meds he’d gotten hadn’t been able to overcome his anxiety. Worse yet, she didn’t know how to help. Give Conklin the new information about Michael? That would most likely end Jason’s lover, but, knowing how Treadstone operated, it might also mean a bullet for Jason. And who knows? _She_ might be included in that “clean-up.” Fuck! No good answers. That was the problem. Jason loved Michael, but now Jason hated him too for going in this horrific direction. Nor could he sit down and discuss this with Michael, hoping to dissuade him. The whole thing? It was an ugly, twisted mess.

She’d been texting Jason all day, but knew from the last couple of messages that he was at home, getting ready to go over to Michael’s place for the weekend. And dreading it. Meanwhile, all she could do was worry. Not very productive, but—

The door opened and closed so fast Nicky had to blink before she realized what’d happened. “Graeme?” she said when she saw the gun in his hand. Suddenly tense, the only thing she could do was stare. Shit! Everything she suspected about this guy … it was true? As he walked up to her desk, she stopped breathing. “What’re you—?” she managed to choke out.

“I need your assistance.” He displayed the gun for her. “Conklin’s office,” he said as he waved it in that direction, a grimace in place.

Nicky opened her mouth to complain, then thought better of it. Exhaling, she stood up, hands out to show him she didn’t have a weapon. Suddenly, she wasn’t just the person concerned about Jason and his problem with Michael. Fuck! She’d wanted to be part of the action, an operative like Jason and now … what kind of an idiot was she?

In Conklin’s office, Graeme motioned to his computer, so Nicky sat down. Thanks to the firearms training course she’d taken, she realized that he didn’t know how to handle a gun. “Uh, could you take your finger off the trigger? I’m not about to do anything,” she said in a steady voice, surprised by the calm tone. “It’s easy to shoot someone like that,” she added when she saw his confusion. Damn, he wasn’t good at this, was he? Good enough, though, to get someone killed. Like her.

Scowling, he moved his finger. “Boot up the computer and sign in. I don’t have all day.”

“What’re you—”

“Do as you’re told.”

A minute later, the computer was up and running. Nicky watched as he pulled out a cable, attaching one end to his smart phone and the other to the computer, doing it all while still holding the gun. “Open the music file,” he said as he pointed at the folders on Conklin’s desktop. “Look for a Metallica song called “Devil’s Dance.”

For a moment, she could only stare. All the months wondering what part an MP3 song might play in this whole thing and now? She still didn’t have a clue. As Nicky opened the file and searched the list, she found that particular song. She dragged it into the folder that’d appeared as he told her to do. Then it was done and Graeme was disconnecting the cable. “Couldn’t you have bought that song online?” 

Sticking the gun in his waistband, Graeme pulled out a flip phone from another pocket. “There’s special instructions on this one,” he said, indicating the smart phone. Then he dialed the small burner, smiling at her as the phone rang at the other end.

“Hello?” Nicky heard, jerking straight up. She opened her mouth.

Scowling, Graeme shook his head, laying a hand on the gun. Then he started the song he’d downloaded, holding the smart phone’s speaker close to the second phone. 

“Hello?” she heard Jason say again, then … silence as the raucous song filled the room.

As chills ran down her spine, the hair on the back of Nicky’s neck stood on end. Oh, God! Fuck, fuck, fuck! “A trigger!” she blurted. “You triggered him with that shit!”

“Smart girl.” Graeme smirked as he disconnected the flip phone call. Sticking both phones in his pocket, he retrieved the gun. “Come on, you’re going with me,” he said, pulling back her chair and jerking her to her feet. 

She looked up at him and saw the disquiet deep in his eyes. Did he intend to kill her? “Why?”

He flashed a cheesy grin, which looked like an attempt to cover that unease. Those contradictory feelings made her want to smack him. Who in hell gave _him_ this job? He wasn’t qualified. Hell, did he even have the guts to kill her or anyone else? “To check and make sure it worked,” Graeme said in what passed for macho assuredness.

Then, with a jerk, the full horror of what had been done to Jason hit her. “The black ops site. They-they programmed him,” she stammered as the whole picture emerged in horrific detail. “Like a Manchurian candidate. They programmed him to—”

“—kill Michael Catalano.” Jamming the gun in his waistband, he grabbed her arm, dragging her along. “You’re a pretty smart cookie. Come on!”

She resisted for an instant, then realized her best bet was to play along until she saw a moment when she could take action. Graeme behaved like a CIA analyst who’d gotten the chance to be an operative, which meant there might be a way to get out of this alive. Her brain whirling, she realized she’d had a lot of self-defense training in the last six months. More than Graeme, right? Yes, he was tall and had upper body strength she lacked, but still …“Don’t, you’re hurting me!” she cried as he dragged her out the door and down the steps, hoping to convince him she was harmless. Not too difficult because she was shaking, worried sick about Jason. How could Conklin have done such a fucked-up thing to him? God, it made her mad as hell, although ... had it been Conklin? He’d ordered the programming, sure, but this shit with Graeme? Not so clear. 

“Sorry,” Graeme said right then, “I need to get over to where Catalano is, to make sure Jason did his job.”

“How-how do you know where he is?” 

He gave her a brief, shit-eating grin. “Put a tracker on his car. GPS will show me everything I need to know.”

As they hit the street, Graeme picked up speed. Thanks to his long legs, Nicky was nearly running. “How-how is Jason untriggered?” 

“You say ‘Nixa.’ Not that it makes any difference now. One way or another, he’s a dead man.” Graeme picked up the pace, taking them down the block and then left, walking along a quiet, deserted street. 

Nixa? That was Jason’s hometown. Why’d they use that? Was it a joke or—?

“Come on!” Graeme snarled, clamping a hand on her shoulder and shaking her. “Now!”

Acting on instinct, Nicky seized his arm, giving it a violent twist with her other hand in the opposite direction so that he was forced to one side, knees bent in order to minimize the pain. “You fucking bitch!” he yelled, fumbling for the gun.

With a sharp jab, she brought her knee up into his crotch, gratified by his howl of pain. Then, just before he fell, she stomped on his sneakered foot with the heel of her boot.

“Ow! You goddamn fucking—!”

She grabbed the gun out of his pants, backing up as she put one in the chamber. “Now, unless you’d like to die today, I suggest—”

He lunged at her, so she shot him in the leg.

Graeme screamed even louder as he clutched the leg, blood spreading everywhere. Gun still raised, she stepped a bit closer. “Give me your phone and the keys to your car,” she commanded.

“I’m not giving you—”

She aimed the gun at his head, speaking through gritted teeth. “Jason is my friend, you piece of shit. And he thought you were his friend too, yet you betrayed him. Do what I say, now!”

“You can only stop him in person,” he said as he handed over the items, blood pooling on his pants leg as it stained his hands. “He’ll ignore a phone call because he’s in mission mode.”

How dumb did he think she was? “That’s what I’m going to do. And you? I hope your fucking leg develops gangrene and has to be amputated!” 

“You’ll be too late!” he gasped. “Tell Conklin my folks have the balls Treadstone lacked. We took care of it when they wouldn’t!”

“Fuck you!” Nicky backed up, gun at the ready, until she was a distance from him. A minute later, she was in her car, driving like a maniac after she’d studied the GPS tracker on Graeme’s phone. Her jaw was set as she drove, her purpose clear. Conklin, Ward, all those fuckers, whoever they were? They’d done this to Jason, hadn’t they? Somehow programmed him to respond to that song and murder a specific man even though he’d resisted their earlier efforts to turn him into an assassin. And that? Killing Michael Catalano? In one way or another, that’d be the end of him, that’d kill him in body and mind, that’d undo him once and for all. “No fucking tears!” she growled as they filled her eyes, jamming her foot on the gas as she tore down the street. No. Tears.

Fuck no! She had a job to do.

§ § §

Focus. A job … he had a job to do. Nothing else mattered. One job. An easy job that’d use one bullet.

Done.

The tunnel vision … a great relief. Driving to the grocery store where Michael was, everything was … easy, simple. No anxiety, no pain. Nothing except … this. A job. Focus on the job. 

Kill Michael.

He caressed the Glock. Easy. Keep the gun in working order. Always ready for action. Hear the song. Go. Nothing to it. Find him, one in the head, done. Kill Michael Catalano. Done.

Then the grocery store came into view. Jam on the brakes, turn off the engine. Jason pulled on the leather gloves he’d brought, then grabbed his gun, exiting the car. 

Headed for the front door. Job to do. Do it quick. Kill Michael Catalano.

As he slammed through the door, he loaded one in the chamber.

§ § §

Careening around a corner, Nicky saw the grocery store just as Jason pushed through the door. And he had his gun! “Fuck!” she yelled as she came to a teeth-rattling halt behind his car. Jumping out, she ran to the front door and heard a gunshot. “Oh, God, no, no!” she whispered, terrified as she yanked open the door.

The people inside screeched, shouting things in French; one of them bolted past her and out the door, others crouched down, hiding. The sweet aroma of wine mixed with the smell of gunpowder filled the air. Down one long aisle, she glimpsed Jason, gun drawn. “Jason!” she cried, but then he disappeared and she heard another gunshot. Racing down the aisle, her feet crunched over the broken wine bottles littering the floor. At the end of the aisle, no Jason, no Michael. Walking with care over the broken glass, she saw Jason again. He had his gun pointed down another aisle.

“Jason, what’re you doing?” a frantic Michael screamed. “Jason!”

Fuck! Nicky crept closer, afraid to startle him for fear he’d fire the gun. Then she saw him raise the gun and scrambled to reach him in time. “Nixa!” she shouted, close enough to knock his arm as he fired.

Michael, some ways off, his back to one of the shelves, jerked, making a sound, as he clutched his head and slumped to the floor.

Jason lowered the gun, bewildered and horrified as he turned to look at her. “Nicky ...?” he whispered, his blue eyes dark with sudden terror.

Thank God! Nicky gave Jason’s arm a reassuring rub, then ran to check on Michael, kneeling next to him. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face, but when she examined him closer, it looked like Jason’s shot had only grazed the side of his head. If she hadn’t knocked his arm …

Stunned, Jason knelt next to her. “I don’t … what happened?” he asked over the excited voices of people in the grocery store.

Shoulder to shoulder, she could feel him shaking. “We have to get him out of here,” Nicky said, making her choice. It wasn’t safe to leave Michael here. Someone had targeted him; even if Jason had failed, those people might succeed if they were given another chance. She studied Jason’s shocked face. “I’ll explain. Please, help me take him out to my car ... no, your car. The cops will be here soon.”

It took Jason a long moment before he understood. “Okay,” he said, standing up and sticking his gun in his waistband. Then he moved to Michael, lifting him up, with Nicky’s help, and, arm around his waist, walked him out of the store past the horrified patrons clustered near the front register. 

Then they were loading him into the backseat of Jason’s car. “Let me drive,” she said to him. “You should tend to Michael.”

“Okay.” Jason climbed into the backseat and began to fasten Michael’s seatbelt. 

An instant later, Nicky zigzagged down the street, turning off the main road, doing her best to hide from any approaching police. Getting out of town? That was the only thing that mattered right now.

A huge mess. That’s what it was. A huge, fucking mess.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Seventeen**

As Jason drove away from the grocery store where he’d almost killed Michael, his brain was waging an epic battle: wave after wave of heartbreaking grief kept getting shutdown by the absolute control his training provided. He had no idea which side would win, although his fucking control ... right now that made more sense. He owed it to both Michael and Nicky to help them and who was in a better position to do that than him? The grief and rage he felt over Treadstone’s betrayal? That’d have to wait. The anguish at almost murdering Michael? God, he couldn’t even go there. Besides, he knew the cops would check the CCTV footage and identify Michael. Besides, he knew the cops would check the CCTV footage and identify Michael. And that? It’d lead them to him. Then they’d be looking for the cell phones’ GPS so they could track them. Which meant the cell phones had to go and the car too. Their chances didn’t look good ... not his, not Nicky’s. The downside to being a rogue assassin was that no one ever came to help. Truth was, if someone had to die today, it’d probably be him. After all, he was the shooter and fuck, he’d almost succeeded in his mission, the one the goddamn assholes at Treadstone had tortured/taught him until he’d learned it as well as he knew his own name. No, he didn’t remember the details and thank the gods everywhere for that, but he knew about the black ops site and the rest? It’d drop at a horrific moment.

Nicky had spent the first fifteen minutes of this journey tending to Michael in the back seat. Using the first-aid kit from his glovebox, she’d cleaned up Michael’s bloody face and applied a bandage, letting Jason know for the fifth time that it was a minor wound. Somehow, he wished it was more. Not that he wanted Michael to suffer a horrible injury, but the way things stood, he was going to be one pissed off man when he woke up.

As Jason cut through an alley, he paused just before he hit another street to let Nicky get into the front seat. That’s when she told him the whole tale of Graeme. “Do you think he’s part of Conklin’s people or maybe another CIA unit?” she asked when she’d explained all that had happened.

“Another unit.” He couldn’t believe he’d missed Graeme’s ulterior motives, although most of those clues had been dropped at Nicky’s feet. “You need to be an agent,” he said in admiration. “You figured him out even before he showed up and threatened you.”

“I had an advantage. He thought I was a dumb broad who’d do what he told me to do. Besides, I think the truth is that I’m better trained than him. He’s nothing but a dumb analyst.”

“Given the damage you did, that sounds right.” Jason sucked in air. So the black ops site had been the vehicle for turning him into a sleeper assassin. And they’d used music with some kind of command embedded in it. “You still have Graeme’s cell phone?”

“I do.”

“If possible, I’d like to keep it.”

“Why? It’s dangerous for you to be anywhere near that music.”

Jason raked a hand through his hair. “Maybe there’s a way to neutralize it.” 

“Maybe.”

Michael began to mumble in the backseat.

“He might be waking up,” Nicky said as she looked back, sounding as worried as Jason.

Just then, he saw the entrance to an underground parking garage and made a sharp left-hand turn into the thing, going down to its deepest level before he parked. 

“What’re you doing?” Nicky asked, still turned so she could keep an eye on Michael.

“We have to switch cars.” Jason checked Michael in the rear-view mirror. “I’m going to look for a replacement. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”

It took him about ten minutes to find an unassuming older model Renault, the non-flashy kind of car that people wouldn’t notice. Even better, he found a key in a magnetic box under the wheel well, so he didn’t have to hotwire it. Standing in the deserted garage, Jason realized he’d been rubbing his right hand. Oh, shit. He looked down at it and remembered for the first time in all this madness that it’d been broken. The splint? Probably back at his apartment. 

With a shrug, he drove the car back to where Nicky waited. That’s when he saw that Michael was awake. Fuck. “Hey,” he said, as he stood by the backseat door, trying to gauge his mood. Michael seemed only half-awake, but gave him a slight smile.

“Do you want me to load stuff into the car?” Nicky said, sliding over and stepping out of Jason’s car. “He doesn’t remember anything,” she whispered.

It took him a moment to take in that fact. “Uh, yes. Pop the trunk—there’s stuff back there we can use. And the glovebox.” As she nodded, walking around the car to the driver’s side, Jason got into the backseat. “How are you feeling?” he asked, looking into Michael’s eyes.

“Jason.” Michael reached out for him, taking him into an embrace. “Your friend. She says I was attacked. I’m … confused. I don’t remember anything.”

He held Michael close, struggling to resist the emotions that wanted to jump all over him. Couldn’t happen. Not now. And yet, Michael’s warm embrace, his breath against Jason’s neck, the familiar scent of his aftershave, all of it was comforting. “It’s okay,” he whispered now, rubbing Michael’s arm. “We’ll figure it out. Right now, we’re doing what we can to hide from the danger.”

“Wouldn’t my security people be helpful?”

They’d been nowhere close, but he wasn’t going to get into that now. “I’m not sure who’s on our side, Michael.” Jason hugged him close. “First, we have to figure out who’s doing this and make a plan plus right now? You’re hurt. We have to take care of you.”

Michael kissed the side of his face. “I love you. Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

“Always,” Jason managed to choke out. “I love you too.” God, fucking God. This just kept getting worse.

§ § §

As Nicky drove their new car, she listened as Jason soothed Michael into resting, amazed all over again by her friend’s strength in the face of such a disaster. He had to know that Michael, sooner or later, would remember what happened and when that moment arrived? It’d be awful. Michael would not only feel betrayed, he’d assume that Jason had been lying to him all along.

She’d found a backpack in the trunk of Jason’s now-abandoned car, a “go bag” filled with supplies: a burner phone, maps, a huge wad of cash, bottles of water, trail mix, granola bars, soup mix, candy, a gun, clips for the gun—a whole array of items one might need if he was on the run. Who planned for contingencies like that? Jason, apparently. He told her he had another bag like that one at his apartment.

Now, as he sat back with Michael, staying close, he was on Graeme’s cell phone, looking for an empty vacation cottage where they could spend the night. After about twenty minutes of this, he leaned over the car seat. “Can we trade places. He’s asleep. I think I found a place. Stop up ahead, on the bridge.”

“Sure.” She turned onto a bridge that crossed a small pond and stopped the car, exiting.

Jason came around to her side of the car. “I’m going to ditch my phone here,” he said, removing it from his pocket, pulling it apart, removing the battery, and then throwing it into the creek. “We’ll ditch yours once we’re going in a different direction.”

She nodded. “You amaze me. I don’t think I’d be functioning if I was you.”

He managed a crooked smile. “You would be, Nicky. Look how you dealt with Graeme. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

She could see the truth in his eyes. Yes, he was functioning, but he knew he was living on borrowed time. Maybe they both were. “This whole thing? It’s rotten,” she blurted out. “I can’t believe that asshole upended everything that way.”

“Somehow, Graeme’s handlers knew what Michael was planning. I wasn’t the only person spying on him.”

“Still ...” As Jason got into the car, she went around to the passenger’s side and slid into the seat. A minute later they were on their way.

§ § §

They found a vacation house that appeared to be in the middle of renovations. After checking it out, Jason decided it’d be perfect. The electricity was still on, but there was no hot water or heat because there was no gas. Since it wasn’t yet the dead of winter, he thought they’d survive. More than anything, they needed a few hours to assess their situation and try to figure out what they should do. A house with a dumpster in the front yard filled with wood scraps, rusted pipes, and trash, along with an old ladder, dried up paint cans, and a tarp that’d seen better days, wasn’t exactly enticing. Plus, he read all of that as a house that’d been abandoned. No money, right? It happened all the time. He hoped that meant there’d be no visitors.

Because it was a vacation rental, there was furniture in the place. After he’d pulled the car into the garage, they took Michael into the living room, getting him comfortable on the couch. Everything was protected by dust covers, which they removed, but otherwise seemed fine. After he gave Michael a bottle of water, Jason toured the rest of the place, which had three bedrooms. He found more shrouded furniture, but it looked like there were plenty of choices and fresh linen in the drawers. There were even extra blankets. During this search, he realized that he’d have to sleep with Michael tonight. Not for sex, but because they were a couple and Michael was injured. Damn. Most people would prefer not to sleep with their would-be assassin. 

Nicky took the dry soup packets from his backpack and, after she’d add water, set the whole thing on the electric stove. It wasn’t gourmet, but along with the other items in his backpack, it gave them something to eat. There were also canned goods in the cupboard, but Jason wasn’t sure how long they’d be here. Hell, at the moment, he didn’t know anything. They needed a plan, but _what_ plan? And how could they decide anything until Michael remembered what happened and they could get through that? For all he knew, Michael might want to ditch them once he remembered how things went down.

Jason helped Michael eat the soup, along with lots of crackers. He didn’t know much about head wounds, but Michael seemed tired and out of it, which worried him. Nicky said it was the result of a concussion, but they’d ditched Nicky’s phone and had Graeme’s location tracker disabled and the phone turned off, so they couldn’t check. It seemed the most likely explanation, though.

As the three of them sat in a semi-darkness only mitigated by the small light they’d left on in the kitchen, Michael began to ask questions about what’d happened. That’s when Jason was forced to lie. Michael wanted details. That? He hated it. “You called me on your way to the grocery store and said someone was following you. Nicky and I were on our way to the bookstore to pick up a book she had on order, so we rushed over to help. This guy had a gun and just as we got there, he raised it at you. I knocked his hand, so the bullet only grazed your head. The guy ran off, so we put you in my car and left.”

Michael looked perplexed. “Why didn’t you stay so we could talk to the police?”

“The guy had a cell phone and was calling in other guys to help,” Jason said, making it up on the spot. “It sounded like they were very close. We thought it best to leave and hide you until we could figure out what was going on.”

“You should call James Marshall,” Michael blurted out. “He’d help.”

Jason had no idea who that was—one of Michael’s security guys? He patted Michael’s arm. “Okay, maybe we will. Right now, we need to do what we can to make you comfortable.”

“Will you sleep with me?” Michael asked, his tone plaintive. Wow, their roles had been reversed, although wasn’t that the nature of a relationship? You did what you had to do to comfort the person you loved. 

“Of course I will,” he said with all the conviction he could muster. Would it make any difference once Michael remembered what happened? Probably not because one way or another, he was going to be furious. 

Michael fell asleep about a half-hour later. As Jason sat close to Nicky, they talked in whispers, attempting to come up with a plan. They needed help, but who could they trust? Conklin? He was the son of a bitch who’d send Jason to the black ops site. Yes, he didn’t know that for sure, but he remembered how pissed off Conklin was when Dr. Hirsch couldn’t push Jason any further. “I think he’d lie through his fucking teeth in order to find us, then interrogate us until he’d gotten every single, fucking bit of information.” Jason took a deep breath, squeezing Nicky’s hand. “And he’d either have Michael killed outright, or interrogate him in ways that’d get that information and then kill him.” Jason shook his head. “No. I can’t let that happen.”

“What’s our alternative?” Nicky asked.

Jason looked at her, wishing she hadn’t gotten involved in this whole crazy mess. Of course, he would’ve killed Michael, right? And found out about it at some point after that? He wasn’t sure. Did the implanted suggestion wear off? Still, if that was true … he tried not to imagine what he would’ve done then. “I don’t know. Let me … let’s get some sleep and revisit the problem in the morning when our brains are working. Maybe we can get real food at that market we saw coming in. That might help more than anything.”

Nicky nodded. “Okay.” She moved closer to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be next door if you need help with anything.

He returned the hug and kiss. “Thanks. Help me with him, okay?”

Together, they managed to get Michael into the bedroom Jason had chosen for them. Then, saying their good nights once more, they went to their separate rooms.

Still dressed, shoes on, Jason lay down next to Michael. An instant later, he was asleep.

§ § §

“It was you! You did it! You!”

Catapulted out of his sleep, Jason pushed against the grip on him as he was shaken until he’d thrown off the assailant. Only then did he realize it was Michael. “What’re you—?” 

Michael struggled to get off the floor. “You tried to kill me, Jason! You! You lying bastard!” He managed to stand, swaying as he stood before Jason, palpable anger and horror in his eyes. “You came into that grocery store, gun in hand, and stalked me, shooting over and over again! You wanted me dead! It was you!” Hair sticking out in all directions, eyes blazing with fury, he staggered closer and then lunged at Jason, smacking him once, albeit, not that hard. “Why would you do that? I thought you loved me!”

Jason fought to hold Michael at bay, but part of him figured he deserved the pounding. “I do love you,” he managed to say just before Michael hit him in the eye. He gasped at the pain.

“You have a goddamn poor way of showing it!” Michael roared as he shook Jason again, pulling his arm back to take another shot.

Jason grabbed his hand. “Listen to me. I know it sounds crazy, but I didn’t do it intentionally. I was programmed to do it, but didn’t know it.”

“Oh, sure, right!” Michael jerked his hand away and stood there, breathing hard as he glared at Jason. “How’d that happen, Jason? You were out running one day and a guy offered to show you his puppy? Next thing you knew, you were in that guy’s basement being programmed?”

“No.” He stared at the man’s angry face and realized it might be the only expression he ever saw again. “I … I work for the CIA. They took me to a black ops site where they—”

With an outraged shout, Michael punched him in that same eye, the blow surprisingly hard, then pulled back to do it again.

Jason threw up his right hand to deflect the blow and heard the bone snap when Michael’s punch landed. He hissed at the sharp pain as Michael hit him in the stomach. “It’s true!” he managed to gasp as he doubled over. 

“I read spy thrillers too! And I know all about what the CIA does. You’re not a fucking agent any more than I’m an astronaut!”

Over all the shouting, Jason heard Nicky’s bedroom door open. Shit, they woke her up.

“It’s complicated, Michael.” One-handed, Jason tried to grab Michael, but the man shrugged him off. “Listen to me, please. Let me explain.”

“Go to hell!” Michael screamed as he lunged at him again.

Then their bedroom door slammed open with such violence it crashed into the wall. Jason jerked around in time to see two men, Nicky between them, her eyes wide with shock. Both men bore grim expressions as they leveled nine-millimeter Glocks at Jason. He recognized that gun. FBI. Oh, my fucking God, they were FBI! “On the ground!” one of them screamed. “Hands behind your head! Now!”

One of them had his gun at Nicky’s head, so, there was nothing to do except obey.

On the ground, Jason gasped as an agent jerked his hands behind his back and cuffed him. His hand had gone from a seven to a ten and that pain? Bad. He was pulled to his feet. That’s when he realized that Michael stood uncuffed, saying something to the man who must be in charge. With a quick assessment, he saw all of it. “You were working with the FBI all along,” he said to Michael, stunned as an agent began to walk him out of the room.

Michael glared. “Unlike your lies, I really was.”

Nicky looked from one to the other. “Michael, this isn’t his fault. He was programmed by the CIA to—”

Michael made a derisive sound. “You’ve got her believing it too!”

Then Jason was being taken to another one of the bedrooms, to be interrogated, no doubt. 

Shit, shit, shit.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Eighteen**

As Nicky was being interrogated by one of the agents, Michael sat in a chair in the dining area of this small house and listened. This was Jason’s friend? It’d taken him a few minutes to realize, but, yes, this was the woman running from an abusive husband, right? Yeah, there was the first lie, the first among many. While that was going on, another agent, who wasn’t a doctor, but a medic, had checked him over, promising that a real M.D. would do a more thorough job when they got back to Paris. Now, he had a new bandage on his head, a headache that kept getting worse, and he couldn’t stop shaking. Unfortunately, he also had his memory back.

To say he was rattled would be an understatement. Clutching a balled-up tissue he’d used to wipe his face, he felt as if his whole world, once on sweet, solid ground, had collapsed, a sinkhole that’d swallowed everything in his life that’d been good, important, _real._ Jason, of course, was one of those things … hell, the main thing, the important thing, the fucking person he trusted with his life. 

Michael twitched at the reaction the young man’s name triggered. God, he hated him! He’d loved him before, so much. The idea that they’d spend the rest of their lives together had seemed very real to him and Jason? He’d done nothing to dissuade that notion. The bastard, the goddamn fucking bastard! He’d played him all along, a complete phony, doing what he did because he was a fucking spy and for no other reason. All Jason wanted was to prove that he was connected to Infernum and would be leading the organization his grandfather had founded. The rest of it? He didn’t give two fucks about any of it.

He looked around. Where in hell was James Marshall, the head guy in this FBI operation, the one that’d been going on for a long, long time? Michael looked around, but then remembered that Marshall had been in the room, walking around, talking to the agents, directing who did what. Had he gone into the other room where Jason was being held? Fuck. So he’d be interrogating him? Good! That was good, right? Tear into the motherfucker. Make him tell the truth. Nonetheless, he swallowed several times though he refused to acknowledge the images that swarmed into his head.

Michael blew out air, clutching the tissue in his hand. This nonsense about Jason being some kind of Manchurian candidate. God, what complete and utter bullshit! Did he really believe people would buy that? Marshall sure as hell wouldn’t. They’d proved long ago that you couldn’t brainwash people and, as for black ops sites? Well, they’d all been shut down by the CIA, every last one, so that? Also bullshit. Jason might seem like a decent, upstanding young man, but it was obvious to him now that the truth was much more chilling. Along with being a spy and an assassin, Jason was a seasoned, pathological liar. He had to be. He’d fooled the hell out of him, hadn’t he? And he’d always prided himself on being a good judge of people! Biting his inner lip, Michael wanted to scream, shout, do something to vent these feelings, but—

“No, you’re wrong, you are completely wrong!” Nicky said from where she sat. They’d allowed her handcuffs to be moved to the front and given her a bottle of water, which she was clutching as her voice rose. “What I’m saying is that makes no sense. Think about it. You’re assuming that Jason’s goal was to murder Michael. That’s why he became his lover, that’s why he got so close to him. Fine, makes sense, right? Except it fucking doesn’t!” She sat up straighter, her glare fixed on the agent. “He’s spent tons and tons of time with the man: in his house, his apartment, his vacation home, the office at Vérité, every fucking place Michael lived and worked.” She turned to give Michael a dirty look, eyes blazing. “So he’s had _ample_ opportunity to kill him dozens and dozens of time. Right? All kinds of opportunity. Hell, forget using a gun, he could’ve strangled or smothered him while he slept.” As she said this, she looked up at the agent interrogating her, jerking the bottle, water flying everywhere, but she didn’t seem to notice. “So in a _brilliant_ move, the assassin follows the man into a grocery store filled with witnesses and tries to kill him there, in front of all those people as well as all the cameras! And this from a trained CIA agent!” She jerked up her chin, daring anyone to disagree. “Yes, that has to be what happened!”

Michael blinked. Fuck, that made so much sense. Jason was intelligent, methodical, a guy who’d never panicked, even in a crucial situation. He’d watched him, cool and calm, work through a problem while others around him were calling out panicked solutions. And even since he’d got to know him better, discovering his PTSD issues, he’d admired how Jason continued to function, how he didn’t give into his despair, how he continued to think of and care for others. _Which I’m not doing, at all,_ he thought with a twinge of guilt.

Now, of course, it looked like Jason and Nicky may have ruined the FBI’s operation. If that was true, _he_ could be in a heap of trouble. His life might even be in danger if word got back to the people he was set to meet with in New York. If they realized they’d almost been set up, it might not go well at all. And that? It’d be on Jason, wouldn’t it? Fuck. This whole thing was complicated.

Then he saw Jim Marshall, the Special Agent-in-Charge of this whole operation, a tall man with craggy features who’d seemed smart and compassionate whenever they talked. Oh, hell, he’d been standing in the shadows the whole time, not hard since it was still dark outside. Now, though, after talking to another agent, Michael watched as he walked down the hall to where Jason was being held. Oh, shit! So he was going to talk to him. Michael worked his mouth. Good … that was good. Maybe he’d come clean and tell the man the truth. God knows, they could all use that right now.

§ § §

In the bedroom where Bourne was being held, Jim sent Agent Carter out, not bothering to mention the complete failure he’d been. Not a word. That’s what the agent told him. Bourne stayed tight-lipped no matter what he was asked. Interesting.

The CIA operative sat in a chair, hands pinned behind his back, legs spread wide, head down. As Jim walked around him, trying to get a lay of the land, he got his first look at the man’s injured hand, which Carter had mentioned. What the hell? Crouching down, he touched it and found it warm and swollen. Shit. Jim fished his key out of a pocket. “I’m going to take off the cuffs,” he said to the young man. “Lean back for me.”

Bourne complied and Jim, moving with care, was able to remove the cuffs, which had almost cut off the man’s circulation. He’d need to have a word with Carter. You had to be aware of such things since an injury made it difficult to focus on the info you were attempting to secure.

“Okay, bring your arm around. That’s right,” he said as Bourne moved his swollen hand onto his lap. “That must hurt like hell. Why didn’t you tell the agent?” he asked, although he knew the answer. A CIA operative was trained to keep everything close to the vest … even his pain. Plus, he had no idea what they might have in mind. Making people talk could be brutal and Bourne had no way of knowing how they might proceed. Exhaling in exasperation, Jim went to the room’s closed door and opened it. “Carter? Ask Rodgers to come in here and bring his kit.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jim noticed several bottles of water on the night table and grabbed one, returning to Bourne and crouching again as he twisted off the cap. “Here. Drink,” he said, his tone commanding, but not brutal.

Jason raised his head and looked into his eyes. Then he took the bottle, wrapping his good hand around it with care, and brought it to his lips. His hand shook as he took a drink.

Jim grasped the bottle to help. “Keep drinking. I’ve got it,” he said and their gaze met again, a look passing between them. 

Bourne drank for another moment and then lowered the bottle. “Thank you, sir,” he said in a gravelly voice.

Nodding, Jim turned as his medic came in, his kit in hand. Jim motioned him over, gesturing at Bourne. “He’s got a broken hand and it looks bad. Can you immobilize it, give him an ice pack to help with the swelling, put it in a sling, and give him pain meds?”

Rodgers nodded. “Yes, sir, I can.”

Jim stepped to one side, watching as Rodgers worked. At some point, he laid a hand on Bourne’s shoulder without being aware that he’d done so. The goddamn hand must hurt like hell. This asset’s operation wasn’t going well at all. Fifteen minutes later, it’d been done. “Okay,” Jim said, coming back around to assess Bourne’s tense face. Carter had given him an ice pack for the eye, which had bloomed into a multi-colored mess. “That should help until we get back to Paris to a real doctor.”

Jaw clenched, Bourne nodded. 

Jim followed Rodgers to the door. “You think that break is easily fixed?”

“Uh, I’m not sure, sir. It looks as if there’s a broken bone that’d like very much to poke through. He may need surgery.”

“OK. Thank you.” As Rodgers walked away, he motioned to Carter, who stood close by. “Ask Ramirez to take the cuffs off and then bring Ms. Parsons into the room.”

“Yes, sir.”

Back in the room, he added a second chair next to Bourne and then a third, in front of those two. Ramirez knocked, then brought the young woman in. “Sit here, please, next to your friend,” Jim said, indicating with a gesture that Ramirez could leave. He watched as Parsons sat down, her attention on Bourne. 

“What happened?” she said, giving Jim an accusatory stare.

“I’m not sure. Your friend has been pretty tight-lipped.” He looked from one to the other. “Do you mind if I call you Jason and Nicky? You can call me Jim. It’ll make our discussion easier.”

“That’s fine,” Nicky said, still focused on Jason. He nodded.

“Okay. Uh, Jason, do you want to tell us what happened to the hand? Otherwise, I think she’ll be blaming me or one of my men.”

Jason looked at Nicky and then back at Jim. “It was Michael. He remembered what happened and was … throwing punches. I tried to deflect one.”

Jim frowned. “Why would—”

“His hand was already broken,” Nicky said, her tone sharp. “When he was triggered back in Paris, he must’ve taken off the brace.”

“Oh.” Jim digested this information. He’d heard the whole story as to why Jason had done what he’d done. She must mean he’d removed the brace prior to that. “Okay, well, let me tell you what I’d like to do.” He took a deep breath, looking from one to the other. “In cases like this, it’d be normal for us to do a complete investigation before we turn suspects over to the local authorities.” That wasn’t quite true, was it? Agents in Paris had already managed to make the whole thing disappear, securing the store owner’s cooperation as well as the witnesses, bringing in a crew to clean up, offering money where it was appropriate, even obtaining the local authorities’ cooperation. Jim was not, however, going to tell them that right now.

“Everything we told you is the truth,” Nicky said, still defiant.

“Jason hasn’t said anything.” Jim gave her a tiny smile when she looked surprised. “However, uh, while I’m skeptical of the story you recounted to Agent Ramirez, your logic made sense.” Jim checked his watch. “Okay, we’re taking you back to Paris with us. First order of business will be to take care of Jason’s injury. As that happens, our investigation will continue.”

“And if you still don’t believe the story, you turn us over to the cops?” Nicky asked.

Jim nodded, watching Jason. “Your colleague defended you with a great deal of heat, but when you’re given the chance, you’re silent.”

Jason frowned, pressing his lips together.

“Is that what you’re taught?” Jim asked, curious. “Go down with the ship?”

“I was taught that,” Jason said, his voice soft and hoarse, “but the silence is because I don’t think it’ll matter.”

“For you personally?”

Jason shrugged. “I’ve been dead since the day I signed up.”

Jim made a sound. “Because, as a covert operative, they feel free to eliminate anyone they no longer trust?”

“Yes, sir.”

To Jim, that admission wasn’t a surprise. He’d heard it before, although not every Federal government agency operated the way this particular one did. “Well, for now at least, how about you give me a chance to keep you alive?”

Jason’s expression changed. He stared for a long moment as if assessing the possibility. Turning to stare at Nicky, he watched as she shrugged. “Yes, sir, I will,” he said finally.

Jim clasped his hands together, rubbing. “Okay, good. We’ll talk more about this whole thing, but now I want to get you to a doctor.” Standing, he pointed to both of them. “You two stay put. Let me get things rolling.”

Neither one spoke as he headed out the door.

§ § §

Jason sat, still breathing through the pain, wishing the goddamn meds would kick in. After Marshall … _Jim_ left the room, he waited, knowing Nicky would have questions, but trying to conserve energy. This whole fucked up mess? It’d been the latest shock in a series of shocks. A body blow that’d sent him reeling. At this point, he wasn’t sure how many more of them he could absorb.

Nicky’s arm went around his waist, her head against his shoulder. “You okay?” she whispered, her tone telling him she already knew the answer.

“No. You?”

“I’m doing better, I think. But I didn’t have to wake up to Michael screaming his hatred at me.”

He tried to breathe through that memory. “You heard that?”

“Some of it. God, talk about fucked up. You’re developing quite a shiner.” She brushed a hand near his cheek. “I’m so sorry. This must be such a shock.”

He tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. “Which one?” Jason hissed at a fresh stab of pain as he jerked his injured hand. “Discovering I can be triggered into murdering Michael? Michael remembering that incident and giving me a beat down? Or when the fucking _FBI_ crashed the party and I realized Michael had been working with them all along?” 

“Oh, Jason …” She rubbed his arm. “It … you’re right, it’s all so fucked up.”

“Yeah.”

“The … Jim Marshall seems decent, though. He could’ve thrown us to the wolves, but he didn’t.”

Jason chewed his lip. God, he wanted to give her more reassurance, to be the strong one who said they’d get through this, to somehow get up off the floor and go on. His normal reserves seemed to be gone, though. He didn’t know if it’d get worse, but if it did, he might just be the guy curled up in a ball in the corner … or maybe the one in the straitjacket. “You’re right, that’s true,” he managed. 

Nicky continued to rub his arm. 

After that, no one said anything.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Nineteen**

Seated on the edge of his bed, Jason had managed to pull on his sweater, jeans, and socks, but the boots with their laces proved to be a challenge to his drug-addled brain, not to mention the limited use of his right hand. The operation to repair the broken bone had been that morning. Dr. Rogers pronounced it minor surgery, but he’d spent an hour under anesthesia and woke up to Nicky with him in the recovery room. Great fun.

At the moment, thanks to the pain meds and the remnants of what they’d used to put him under, everything seemed to be a disorganized whirl of activities: nurses coming in and out, injections, instructions about the cast covering most of his hand and lower arm, the doctor checking that he was still alive. He knew, though, that it’d soon end because the FBI had decided to take him with them to New York … and Nicky. They were “guests,” but really? Prisoners. Leaving Paris to jet across the Atlantic to the city where it’d all started for him. So much fun.

Thanks to the garish Ferris wheel always turning in his head, that mattered less than it should. Today was … umm, Saturday. Yesterday? Friday. Right. So it’d been less than twenty-four hours since the whirlwind took hold, which was what the FBI was counting on to work in their favor. Conklin wouldn’t notice, right? He sometimes didn’t talk to Nicky for days at a time. Him? He expected periodic updates, but would get pissy if he called too often to report minor details. Also, he thought he’d heard Jim Marshall say something about “taking care” of the incident at that grocery store. Or was he hallucinating that?

The bigger question, at least in his mind was _why_ the FBI wanted them. Yes, they hadn’t finished their investigation and they were anal retentive that way. Of course, the most pertinent part of that was the whole Manchurian candidate thing no one believed. Hell, he didn’t believe it half the time and yet, he’d come to/woke up in the grocery store with Michael almost dead. Since the FBI was protecting Michael while they ran the Infernum op, it made sense that they’d want to keep him close. Who knew? If he got triggered again, he might highjack an airliner and then, once he hit JFK, a cab until he’d found his target in New York City.

The door opened then and Nicky was there to break the stupidity. “Hey.”

She had a backpack with her. “How’re you feeling?” she asked as she laid it next to him.

Telling her he’d like to jump out the window wasn’t a good idea. “Okay. Still on pain meds.” He held up the cast. “At least I could knock out someone with this thing.”

“You could.” She looked tired, but smiled. “I am now your best friend.”

She was his _only_ friend, but … “You are, but how come?”

“I picked out underwear to put in your bag.”

She’d gone to his apartment and hers, packing stuff for both of them, FBI agents in tow. He took a deep breath. “Can’t think of a better person. I’m honored. Hope everything was clean.”

She laughed. “From you? Jason, you’re the neatest, tidiest person I know.” She sat down in the chair next to the bed, puffed up her cheeks and blew out air. “This is so weird.”

“The picking out underwear part or being in the FBI’s custody and taken to New York part?”

“All of it.” She closed her eyes and he realized how tired she was. At least, he’d had some downtime when they’d put him under. Now, she opened her mouth to say something, but then hesitated. “Uh, I saw Michael.”

Jason’s heart leapt. “And?”

She twisted her mouth. “I’m on his shit list too. He was heading for Vérité.”

Michael was the hardest part of this whole thing. Even his _name_ was painful to hear. Jason felt like someone who’d had a heart transplant that’d then been ripped out of his chest. He was fading fast, but somehow still alive. “So he’s wrapping up a few loose ends and making a path for my absence?” 

“Jim said he’d be sending you an email about needing you with him in the States.”

Jason nodded. This he knew. “And I’ll forward it to Conklin, so it’ll look legit.”

They stared at one another. “This is weird,” Nicky said.

“Very.”

“How’re you feeling about Michael?”

Jason looked at the floor. “That would take longer than we have time to explain.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Suffice it to say, he hates me.”

“If he hates you, it’s because he loves you and thinks you betrayed him.”

“I didn’t,” he said on his own exhaled breath.

She touched his knee. “I know that. Maybe he’ll come to realize it too.”

“Yeah … maybe,” he said, although he didn’t think that would ever happen. 

Nope.

§ § §

After they’d boarded the FBI’s plane, the agents directed them to a section toward the back, while they sat in adjacent seats across the aisle. And that? So they didn’t, what? Try to jump out the sealed windows at 30,000 feet? By then, Jason was ready for a nap, but before they could even get comfortable, Jim had come onboard and was seating himself across from them. “How’re you feeling, Jason?” he asked as he did.

“Still woozy, but that helps with the pain so I’m not complaining.”

“They had to reinforce the bone?”

“Yes, sir, something like that.”

“Good. Uh, listen. Michael is on his way and he’s … well, not in a good place. As you can imagine, this has all been a huge shock.”

“It was a shock to me too.” Jason stared at the man, wondering if he’d ever believe the truth. Michael? Yeah, he was a lost cause, but Jim was FBI, so he should take a more neutral approach. “Did you send that file to the forensics specialist?”

“Yes. It’ll take him a while to do the analysis.”

“But you still have Graeme’s phone?” Nicky asked.

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

Jim smiled. “Don’t worry, I have no intention of triggering Jason. Besides, Michael is his only target, right?” 

“As far as we know.”

Then Jason heard Michael’s voice. He could tell right away that his former lover was upset. Shit, just what they all needed. An instant later, he was on the plane and the agents with him were helping him stow his luggage. As he did so, he was complaining and in the close environment, everything he said could be heard. “He would’ve killed me. Do you guys get that? I mean, if you talk to the people in the grocery store, they’ll tell you. He aimed the gun at me and almost shot me in the head except that girl grabbed his hand at the last moment. And yet, you all think it’s fine that he comes with me to New York? Why? To try again?”

As Jason ducked his head, stabbed by fresh pain, Jim arose, walking to where Michael stood. “Mr. Catalano—”

“No, no!” Jason heard the hysterical tinge in Michael’s voice he’d heard in previous encounters with the man’s temper. “I don’t see why you give a damn about him or his girlfriend. I agreed to this operation because I wanted to put the whole goddamn Infernum thing to rest, once and forever. I didn’t agree to drag along my would-be assassin!”

“We don’t know that he—”

“Please tell me you don’t buy his bullshit excuse that he was somehow ‘triggered’ by a mysterious guy. Have you found him? That guy?”

Jason looked up in time to see Jim shake his head. “No.”

“So he probably doesn’t even exist! And yet you—”

“Mr. Catalano, as I told you, we don’t have all the facts yet, which makes it difficult to make a decision about those two—”

“He’s an assassin! What more do you need to know? He stalked me, shot at me, and nearly murdered me! Do you need a note from his mother? Video of the event? What?”

“Whatever the truth may be, sir, we want to be able to trace it back to its source and to hold responsible anyone who had a part in it.”

“Like the CIA? How fucking culpable do you think they are, Agent Marshall? They gave him a gun and told him to kill me. It’s that simple!”

In a blur of motion, Nicky sprang out of her seat and strode up the aisle to where the men were standing. “You are so far off base!” she said as, hands clinched, she planted herself in front of Michael. “After all the time you spent with Jason, hours and hours of time, you now think he’s nothing more than a non-thinking killing machine? That’s bullshit, Michael, and you ought to know it.”

Jason saw the way Michael’s lip curled. “Oh, do tell. I suppose he didn’t want to be a fucking assassin, but McDonalds wasn’t hiring that day.”

“You asshole,” Nicky said, each word clearly articulated. “You of all people ought to know his heart. He’d never betray someone he loved. And in fact? During this whole horrible operation, he told me many times that he ought to put a bullet in his head and end it all, because being forced to betray someone he loved was—”

“Oh, give me a break!” Michael shouted. He moved to step closer to Nicky, but the agents who’d walked him in intervened. “Where’s my tiny little violin? Maybe I should—”

Watching this, Jason wasn’t sure what to do. If he came to stand next to Nicky, he’d only inflame Michael more, and yet …

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” Nicky spat out, speaking over him. “Why don’t you ask Jason what his life has been like since he signed on with what he’d been told was a covert operation intent on taking out guys like the 9/11 murderers?” She tried to lean closer, but by then, Jason had stepped up behind and held her back. “Here’s a clue you faithless bastard: it was absolute hell.”

“Nicky, come sit down,” he managed, avoiding Michael as he gave her arm a little tug.

She jerked her head around to look at him. “He needs to know what you’ve been through, Jason. He’s got this crazy idea about you that isn’t true.”

“You’re not going to convince anyone.”

“Because it’s a pile of shit!” Michael hissed, still held back by the agents.

“I think it’s time everyone sat down,” Jim interjected, moving to block Michael’s way. “Nothing is going to be decided.”

“All those scars on his back?” Nicky said at the same moment. “They’re _not_ from playing paintball!” Jason pulled her away. “Goddamn, fucking son of a bitch,” she murmured as she followed him back to their seats.

As they sat down, Jason slid his good hand around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “I wish you’d been with me in high school.”

“To do what? Hold your coat?”

“Believe it or not, I was a pretty big nerd,” Jason said, but then his attention was caught by Michael, who appeared to be glaring at him. He stared back and, after a moment of this, Michael’s expression changed, and for an instant, the old Michael, full of love and compassion, overtook the anger. Jason drew a sharp breath.

“You okay?” Nicky asked.

As Michael resumed his angry stare, Jason turned toward Nicky. “Sure. Yeah,” he said, but it wasn’t true, was it? Not even close.

§ § §

As their jet taxied down the runway, Michael tried to keep his gaze off Jason. Sitting where he was, though, made it hard. He searched through his briefcase, looking for his appointment book, but when he’d turned to August, the first thing he saw was a notation about Jason: _Check to see if J. has date avail._ he’d scrawled. It was an art opening and he’d wanted to strike out in a bold way and make Jason his date. Yeah, that was a great idea! Come out of the closet and introduce his assassin boyfriend to everyone. Shit! He was such an idiot!

Then he had a sudden thought. Oh, God, Gustavo Edwards had emailed him just before this shit storm began. Once he got to New York, they wanted to have a couple of events prior to him meeting the consortium. One of those was a cocktail party, but the more important one was an intimate dinner Edwards would host, one with key members of Infernum’s inner circle. And Edwards had asked that he bring a date. His exact words had been “bring your man, we’d all like to meet him.” Yes, in a flash of bravado, he’d told Gustavo that he was seeing someone, that it was serious. Infernum had been built on the idea that pure intellect needed to replace religious convictions. And with that notion, there was no room for bigotry toward any nonreligious idea or group, including homosexuality. Michael had known that, but blurting out that information had been stupid to the max. Of course, he’d had no idea that Jason was a fucking CIA spy, but even if he had, drawing the young man into this operation would not have been a good idea. 

Michael blinked. How in hell was he supposed to produce his lover? True, the dinner wasn’t for a while, but he’d hardly be comfortable attending such an event with Jason in tow and he doubted Jason would either. After all, he was the FBI’s prisoner, wasn’t he? Jim Marshall wouldn’t want to let him out of his sight. Would he provide an FBI agent, instead? Or was Michael going to have to make an excuse for Jason’s absence? He’d rather not do that, because something like that might look suspicious to those guys.

Raising his head, his gaze fell on Jason where he sat next to Nicky. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back. Michael saw the black-and-blue bruise near his eye, the one he’d given him when he’d punched him last night. He also saw the cast on his arm and remembered hearing that bone snap during that same encounter. For a moment, the guilt was overwhelming and the emotions pushed up past the anger. If what Jason had said was true? He’d be … devastated right now, wouldn’t he? Waking up to realize that he’d almost killed his lover … the shock, the guilt, the anger would be overwhelming. And then there’d been the second wave: him. Screaming, throwing punches, not listening to anything. 

And Jason? Never threw a punch, did he? Not during the whole thing.

Michael blinked.

Who was the monster here? Jason? Or him?


	20. Chapter Twenty

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Twenty**

Arms crossed, Nicky stood at the window of their apartment, staring at the midtown Manhattan crowd below. The city that doesn’t sleep, right? There was always what seemed like a billion people out there, bustling around, going somewhere to do something, people with normal lives, with children, dinner to fix, TV to watch. Here? Not so much.

Behind her, Jason sat at the desk in one corner of this apartment/hotel/whatever it was called where they now lived. At his request, she’d packed his laptop when she’d gone into his apartment a few days ago back in Paris and now he was working. Hard to believe, but it was true. Did Michael know? Maybe, maybe not, but nonetheless, as if nothing had happened, Jason was doing his job. Maybe he thought that would give him cover should Conklin become suspicious, but if she had to guess, she’d say he was doing it out of habit and also to keep his mind occupied. 

One good thing: this place was amazing. It was a cross between a hotel and an apartment, so they had room service, but they also had a small kitchen, a dining room, a living room, things other than bedrooms. Since they enjoyed cooking, they’d done more of that than call room service, but in the morning, it was nice to have breakfast already made if they wanted it.

They hadn’t seen Michael’s apartment, but imagined it was ritzier than theirs. Still, this was pretty damn nice. It was two bedrooms with one being in the loft. That’s where Jason slept, while she slept down here in the bedroom with the queen-size bed just off the living room. Because she was a horrible person, she wondered if it upset Michael that his lover was now sleeping in the same space as a _girl._ If things weren’t so damn serious, she would’ve trolled him with that, but … yeah, their lives were on the line so, no. 

Speaking of lives, the FBI had done a thorough search, trying to find Graeme, who she’d left bleeding on the sidewalk near the safe house. Hospitals, clinics, lying in a ditch somewhere, none of it had yielded even a trace of the man. That street where they’d had their confrontation was not residential, so there weren’t people to interview, but, shit, there hadn’t even been traces of blood on the sidewalk. And his car? It was gone. It was like the whole thing never happened. Typical CIA, right? Erase the operation gone bad. Or maybe Graeme had a spare key to the car and had hobbled over to it, then disappeared.

Nicky had spent about two hours talking to the researcher who was trying to track down Graeme’s actual unit, giving him all the info she could remember, but the guy hadn’t been able to pin it down. Yes, Graeme worked for a unit of the CIA and was an actual employee. What that unit was? No one seemed to know. Nor did anyone know where he worked in London or what he did. He’d come into their lives as a mystery and remained just that. Nor could they, for obvious reasons, put a call through to Conklin.

Meanwhile, Jason had a meeting with Jim in a half hour. Jason joked that it was an interrogation without torture implements, but she’d stared at him with such horror that he’d quickly told her he was joking. Of course, he was the one who must dwell on torture even though he didn’t remember it. Was he expecting those memories to surface now that the brainwashing part had come to light? Probably. 

“You’re doing a lot of frowning.”

She looked over and realized he’d been watching her. “With all this time on my hands, I guess I’m doing a lot of brooding.”

“You ought to do some work like I’m doing.” He shrugged. “It’s better than brooding.”

“I guess.” As she walked over to the desk where he sat, she noticed his cast. “Did they make a doctor’s appointment for you?”

“They did. It’s on Thursday.”

“Maybe you’ll have more use of your hand.”

“That’d be nice, but I’m not sure it’s going to happen so soon.”

Because Jason slept upstairs in the loft, she’d heard him thrashing around late at night, although she never mentioned it. God, their lives were so up in the air right now, especially his. Conklin would catch on to what happened and then? Damn, it could get scary. Jason? He was keeping it all close to the vest, probably for her benefit, but also because that’s what operatives did: no freaking out allowed. 

Nicky took a deep breath. “Wants coffee? I think I know how to work the Keurig.”

He smiled at the lame joke. “Well, if you’re sure you can handle all that complex machinery, sure.”

She got up, heading for the kitchen. One thing at a time, right? That always worked best.

§ § §

As Jim sat across from Jason, organizing his notes while the young man waited, he observed once more how disciplined Jason was. Not a surprise. He’d been in the Army—hell, the Green Berets and Special Forces—and risen to the rank of captain. Then he’d gone on to this covert operation called Treadstone. There, it seemed, he’d learned even more ways to keep himself under tight control no matter what was going on. Now, Jim noted his pale features, his eyes downcast, his lips pressed tight. He was braced for the worst. Jim cleared his throat. “Well, Jason, I’ll say one thing: it appears as if the CIA gave you an airtight identity. The agents I tasked with digging up your past found lots of information about Jason Bourne: upbringing, schools attended, college degree, time spent in the Army, jobs—including your present one at Vérité— even social media stuff. However, none of them could find word one about your real identity.”

At that, Jason looked up. “Yes, sir, that’s how it’s supposed to be.”

“Can I ask what your real name is?”

“David Webb.”

“Did you lose it once your training began?”

“Yes, sir. It was the first thing I had to learn.”

“Meaning what?”

Jason focused on Jim. “Uh, I had to tell Dr. Hirsch or the guards my name whenever they asked. Not responding right away involved punishment.”

“Like what?”

“Uh, no breakfast, enduring an extra hour or two of physical training, losing my mattress.” Jason gave him a crooked smile. “Getting punched in the stomach.”

Jim blinked. “Damn. Sounds like the Army.”

“Yes, sir, except most sergeants know how to give you the good along with the bad.”

“True. So was there a lot of that?”

“It got worse as the weeks went by. I had trouble understanding why I needed to kill anyone they wanted me to kill. And that? It was the bottom line, the one I had to toe.”

Jim listened as Jason told him about being recruited into Treadstone and how the reality of the moment didn’t comport with what happened after he’d committed to the program. So, yes, he’d been sleep deprived, starved, smacked around, and nearly drowned as the “doctor” in charge of this dubious program attempted to convert him into a braindead killing machine. 

It didn’t work.

“So they couldn’t get you to the place where you’d kill someone because they told you to?” he asked after Jason told him about an incident where they’d handed him a gun and ordered him to shoot a bound, blindfolded, gagged man. He wouldn’t do it.

“Yes, sir.” Jason chewed on his lower lip and shrugged. “They were pissed.”

“And by ‘they’ you mean this doctor, Hirsch, as well as Alexander Conklin?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jim scribbled notes. “What happened next?”

For a slow instant, Jason inhaled. “I don’t know. I … that’s when I lost a lot of time.”

“Approximately how much time had passed prior to that?”

“Uh, maybe two months. I’m not sure. There were no clocks in the training center and with all the sleep loss and everything, it’s hard to say.”

Jim lowered his pen. Damn, they’d really fucked him over. “This would be when you believed they put you in a black ops site somewhere in Europe?”

Jason’s expression darkened. “Yes, sir.”

“So you … what? Just have this blank space you can’t account for?”

Jason scratched his injured hand under the cast. “I have this memory of … I, uh, went to bed one night and the next thing I remember, I was in a different room, one more like a hotel room than a prison cell. It was striking because of that: I had all kinds of amenities and was being treated like a patient. I’d lost a noticeable amount of weight, and I was … exhausted in a way I hadn’t been. I spent several days sleeping, while a series of nurses and doctors tended to me. I-I had bruises and cuts all over my body, ones I couldn’t account for. And if I tried to remember what happened, my head hurt worse and I’d get the headache from hell. So I stopped.”

“Was that when flashback episodes started?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jim reached into his briefcase and pulled out a file. “Did you read the copy of this that I sent you?” he asked as he held up the document.

“I did.”

The Senate Intelligence Committee’s report on CIA torture had been thorough and horrifying. There was no getting around the fact that they’d set up a number of black ops sites in Europe to use as a way to circumvent U.S. laws while they “persuaded” suspected terrorists to cooperate. Given the events of 9/11, they felt justified in using what they said were “non-lethal” means of getting crucial information from suspected terrorists, although Jim had to question water boarding being called non-lethal. Now, he saw the disquiet in Jason’s eyes. “You think you were in one of those sites.”

“I do. And since I was no longer in the States, they could use whatever method they wanted to break me.”

Jim took a deep breath. “And you think they did that because they wanted to set you up to take out Michael Catalano?” he asked, pushing away the horror he felt.

“If they thought he was going to jump ship and end up running Infernum while also running the country as his father had been planning to do, yeah, definitely.”

Jim slid the file back into the briefcase. “If you’d been triggered like that, Jason, and ended up murdering Catalano, what do you think would’ve happened next?”

Jason did hesitate. “They’d send another operative to finish me off.”

“So all the cash they’d put into you would be for that one task?”

“Apparently.”

He stared at the young man’s passive face. “And how does that make you feel?”

Jason blinked, his fixed expression morphing into a deep pain. “Like a thing, a nonentity, a robot they could be junked at will.”

“And yet you let it happen. Even before you suspected the black ops site, you knew—” Then Jim stopped, thinking it through. “You knew all along that you could kill Conklin or … any of them, that you could escape, but they had an unlimited number of assets to send after you.” The shock settled around him. “Once they’d tricked you into signing onto the program, you were trapped.”

Jason said nothing.

He’d been through a lot, hadn’t he? And maybe, just maybe he could help, but there was one final thing that had to be done. He didn’t want to do it, but … the higher-ups had insisted. “Excuse me while I get water for us,” Jim said as he stood up. Opening the refrigerator, he took out two bottles of water and set them on the counter. Then he picked up his phone, which he’d left there earlier, and pulled up the song. Turning up the sound, he chose Metallica’s “Devil’s Dance,” bracing himself as the song blasted out of the speaker.

In the seconds it took him to turn around, it was too late. A blur of motion, Jason advanced on him with a blank countenance that was alarming as hell.

“Jason …?” he managed, but no more. With deadly precision, Jason grabbed his arm, using only his good hand, then twisted it behind his back as he forced Jim around and slammed him onto the floor, knee in his back. He yanked the gun out of the holster at his waist. 

“Jason—” Jim began again, shocked by the immediacy of the change, but then he’d been rolled onto his back and faced Jason’s dead eyes. The man had transformed into a different person, a fugue-controlled human whom Jason had rightfully labelled a “thing.”

“Where is Michael Catalano?” Jason demanded, pressing the barrel of the gun to Jim’s forehead. It seemed entirely possible that he’d pull the trigger if he didn’t get the answer he wanted.

Jim took a moment to search for any sign that this was an elaborate ruse, emboldened by the fact that the gun had been rendered nonlethal, but everything said otherwise, the man above him an empty husk that’d been somehow programmed by real monsters. “Jason?” he said, just to be sure. “Do you know who you are? Do you know what you’re doing?”

The blank expression held. “Tell me where Michael Catalano is,” Jason demanded in a voice without feeling.

“Nixa,” Jim said in a soft voice and watched as the zombie threatening to destroy him disappeared as quickly as he’d turned up.

Jason stared at him, mouth half opened. “I don’t—” He looked around, then down at the gun in his hand. “You-you triggered me?” he whispered, his voice breaking as the blank stare was replaced by horrified anguish. 

“The gun’s not loaded and, yes, I had to be able to tell my superiors I was certain about you.” Jim took the gun, put it back in his holster, and then, with Jason’s assistance, got back on his feet. 

Stricken, Jason stared at Jim as if he couldn’t believe what happened. “So-so it’s true.”

“You didn’t believe it?”

“I’d … I guess I’d hoped … I don’t know, hoped something.” Jason looked around, struggling not to react, the crushed expression hard to watch. “I put you down on the floor and took your gun?”

“You demanded to know where Michael was.” Standing next to him, Jim touched Jason’s arm. “I looked into your eyes and saw that a blankness had replaced the person I’d come to know.”

Jason opened his mouth, but couldn’t speak, swaying as he blinked.

Jim got a grip on him, steering him toward a chair. “Let’s sit,” he said, concerned by the shock. They made it to the chair just in time. “Put your head down,” Jim said as Jason’s eyes rolled back. “Down,” he said in a more forceful tone, afraid he’d lose him. Then _Jason_ would be the one on the floor. Scooting his chair a bit closer, he laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder as he leaned forward, prepared to catch him if he passed out.

Damn.

§ § §

As he tried to stay conscious, Jason’s closed his eyes tight to block out the swirling vortex that’d formed around him, scattering debris everywhere as it tried to take him out. Goddamn! He’d been triggered and it was real. Triggered and grabbed Jim’s gun. Triggered like the fucked-up son of a bitch he’d become. Fuck, maybe he’d always been that person, maybe he just didn’t know it.

“Jason? Here, can you sit up and drink some water?”

Straightening out, he took the bottle offered, then almost dropped it.

“Easy.” Jim grabbed it before it hit the floor, then twisted off the cap. “Let’s try that again.”

The second time, Jason managed to hold onto the bottle, drinking, but his hands were trembling as he sat it down on the table next to him. “So you-you believe I didn’t mean to attack Michael?” he managed to choke out.

“I do. Uh, listen. Before we go any further, let me confess something. Our forensics pretty much confirmed the encoding on that song and the function it served, but I knew that I had to test that theory.” Jim raised both eyebrows as he sighed. “The brass wanted that, but I regret putting you through it.”

Still hunched over, Jason ran a hand through his hair. Was he glad about that or did it make him want to die? Maybe both. “Did you record it?”

“Yes.” Jim pointed to corner of the room. “There’s a camera behind that picture. Again, it’s for my superiors.”

Jason stared at the tranquil picture of a boathouse by the sea. “I guess … knowing is good, but it also means my worst fears are confirmed.”

“True, but the most pertinent fact is that none of it is your fault.” Jim sat up straighter. “Listen. There is good news. I talked with an FBI psychiatrist who tells me he knows a colleague who specializes in helping people like you. This particular specialist claims that it’s possible to break that kind of conditioning. Since I think you and Nicky are going to be with us for a while, I’d like you to consider meeting with her. When you meet Dr. Peña, he can give you more details.”

That was a surprise. “If Conklin figures out what’s happened, you’ll pretty much own both of us.”

“I’m prepared for that, although we’re working on keeping him in the dark for a while longer.” Jim rubbed his lower lip as if to suppress a smile. “We got him and his boss, uh, Ward Abbott, invitations to an X-rated party a billionaire hosts on his yacht, which, at the moment, is anchored in the Mediterranean.”

Jason looked as surprised as he felt. “A sex party?”

Jim nodded. “A very well-known one that lots of people in the intel community know about. It’ll keep them both occupied for another four or five days, so I’m hoping they’ll get right on that.”

Four or five days was nothing compared to the rest of his life, but right now? That life hardly mattered. “Will you tell Michael about this?”

“I will.”

Jason wondered whether it would make a difference. He’d still hate him for the deceit. Neither one of them could ever go back to the life they thought they’d had, which … that was sad. 

“What’re you thinking?” 

“What I’m going to do for a life. I’ve lost my job—although that’s the good part—and I’ll soon have people trying to kill me. Even if that gets handled …” He shrugged. 

“How about you not worry about that right now? Think of yourself as being embedded in the FBI’s op as we work to neutralize Infernum.”

“Again.”

“Again?” It took Jim a minute to get it. “Oh, right. Yes, again, except this time no one will shoot you if there’s a problem.” Jim stared at him. “You look tired. That’s a lot to take in. I think anything else we need to discuss can wait. How about you go rest. Or eat lunch, take a nap, do the crossword puzzle in the Times.”

Jason knew that was a wise choice. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was exhausted. “Is it okay to tell Nicky about this?”

“Yes, of course. That’s fine.”

Jason stood up. “Thank you, sir. And I hope I didn’t hurt you when I threw you down.”

Jim stood up too, smiling. “My pride more than anything else. You’re welcome, Jason.”

§ § §

When Nicky returned to their apartment/hotel, she thanked her escort, a young FBI agent named Chris, and took the groceries she’d bought to the kitchen part of their space. Jason either hadn’t returned or maybe he’d gone up to the loft. She looked in that direction, but saw nothing, which meant he either wasn’t there or he was lying down. Of course, he might still be with Jim, which would put them at four hours. She hoped that wasn’t true.

After she’d put the groceries in the refrigerator and cupboard, she happened to glance at the small cluster of pill bottles in one corner of the counter. The FBI had called on one of their doctors to refill the prescriptions Jason had had and, along with the pain meds from the surgery on his hand, there should be three bottles. When they’d first arrived, he’d asked her to help him keep track of the meds so he didn’t accidentally overdose … easy to do when you were taking those kind of meds. Now, she realized, one bottle was missing: the pain meds, which were the most lethal of the three. A tiny spark of concern made her walk to the stairs that led to the second floor and go up without making a sound.

His shoes on the floor, Jason lay on one side of his bed, curled up, his eyes closed. She saw the pills on the table next to the bed, tip-toeing over there to check the bottle. It looked unchanged. Certainly not empty or anywhere near that. Nicky relaxed. 

Taking the soft blue blanket draped over the foot of the bed, she covered him, and then turned to go downstairs, pills in hand. 

“Nicky?”

She stopped, almost missing the soft voice. “Yes? You okay?”

“Thank you,” Jason said.

She stared at his still figure. “Sure. You’re welcome. Let me know if you need anything.”

He didn’t answer.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Twenty-One**

They’d been meeting for a few hours, long enough to eat a catered lunch as they continued to talk, and by now, Michael was tired. Yes, with all the things coming up, everyone involved in this operation needed to make sure they had all the pieces in place and that everyone was on the same page. There was an agenda that needed finalizing along with everything that needed to happen. That’s the only way this operation was going to succeed and let’s face it, they’d been working toward this day for a long time. In his experience, the FBI always operated that way and he appreciated it, even if it was tedious as hell.

He’d been in New York almost a week now and, aside from the FBI following him everywhere as they continued—just as they’d done in Paris—pretending to be his security detail, it was a lot like any other trip. The minute people knew he was in the States, the requests began to pour in. Given that there was always a ton to do, he’d gone with it. Besides, the last thing he wanted was to sit in his suite at the Lowell doing nothing. God, no. That gave him far too much time to think and thinking? That was something he couldn’t afford to indulge. Life was too bitter to taste it.

At 3:15, the meeting ended. As the agents in the room began to gather their laptops, toss used paper plates, cups, and napkins in the trash, and place phone calls, Jim touched Michael’s arm. “Can you hang around for another fifteen minutes? There’s something I need to tell you.”

That didn’t sound promising, but at this point, what could he do? He’d cast his lot with the FBI a long time ago. Now they were in the homestretch, so … “Of course.” He pulled his yellow legal pad out of his briefcase. “What’s up?” he said as the last agent left, closing the door behind.

“I interviewed Jason on Monday,” Jim began.

“You mean interrogated,” Michael snapped, taken aback by his own vitriol. He managed a ragged breath. “I’m sorry. It’s been a couple of tense days.”

Jim, who had to be the nicest FBI agent ever, nodded. “It has been, for everyone. And, yes, it’s interviewed. Michael, everything he said about the incident at the grocery store checks out. We’ve investigated the whole thing and nothing points to Jason targeting you.”

Biting his inner lip to keep himself quiet, Michael listened as Jim told him about the discussion. Jason had walked Jim through his history with this CIA organization known as Treadstone. Not only that, but Jim spoke to a shrink about the alleged brainwashing that’d made Jason into the would-be assassin he’d almost become, a physiatrist who’d also talked to Jason. And if all of that wasn’t detailed enough, he’d also tested the idea by springing the alleged triggering song on Jason, who slammed him to the ground, stole his gun, and demanded to know where Michael was ... just before he snapped out of it when Jim used the Nixa word. With all that in mind, Jim showed Michael the video.

By that time, Michael was angry enough to scream, contained only by the fact that he needed this man to keep him alive. “He could’ve faked that,” he said through gritted teeth the minute the video finished. “From what I’ve been able to gather, he’s a very good liar.”

Jim didn’t even blink. “He’s been working undercover for at least the last two years. Of course he’d need to be quick-witted. He strikes me as a highly intelligent man who’s had excellent training in a variety of fields. However, I think that response was genuine. I have no doubt he could’ve done significant damage to me and he only has one good arm.”

Michael wanted to argue, to snap at the guy, to tell him he was being a chump, but he kept his peace. “It means nothing to me, Jim. He lied and everything he said and did is complete shit. I want him out of my life. I can’t wait for the moment you cut him loose. In fact, how come you haven’t already done that? He’s innocent, right? You just said so.”

“He is, sir, but he is also in a perilous situation … or soon will be. His handlers won’t take kindly to the fact that he’s talked with us, nor will they be pleased that he confessed the whole plot.”

“I don’t know that I believe a word he’s said.”

“Do you believe he’s been faking the flashback episodes or the nightmares? How about all the injuries he’s had? Do you know that he got slapped around by this deputy director, Conklin, and had to make up a story for you thanks to a black eye and other injuries?”

Michael tried to hide his shock. The story about the PTSD and subsequent encounter with a dumpster had been a lie? “That’s his problem. He should’ve left that organization long ago,” he forced himself to say.

“We’re not talking about some nice organization with a 401K and paid Family Leave. If he leaves, he’ll be hunted down and killed. That’s been a factor in his life for a long time.” Jim gave him a look. “And yes, I believe him. I’ve heard of many black ops throughout the years and they were all well outside the rule of law.”

“I don’t believe that either,” Michael said in a voice that might’ve been too loud. “I’m surprised an FBI agent like you can be taken in by a-a liar like Jason.”

Jim stared at him for a moment. “Well, I think it might do you some good to think about this situation, because we need Jason and I assume you know that.”

Michael straightened out. “You mean the Infernum dinner,” he said in a flat tone. “You think he should go with me.”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “Who better? He’s as well trained as any FBI agent I could assign the task and has the added advantage of being the real deal: your lover. If you can get around your anger, that will give us a leg up in this investigation. As you know, he’s good at sleuthing. He might be able to suss out additional intel you’ll miss.”

“Why would I miss anything?” Michael asked, his anger rolling out. “I’m not an idiot, Jim! I can—”

“You’ll be the focus, the one in the spotlight, sir. Jason will be able to pay attention in ways you won’t.”

Michael glared at him. “No, I won’t do it. Forget it! I’m not doing anything that involves using Jason as my lover. That’s ridiculous!”

“Sir—”

“No!” he said and stood up, jamming his pad and pen into his briefcase. “I have things to do. I’ll talk to you later.” Then, without looking at the man, Michael turned away and headed for the door. Go to the Infernum dinner with Jason on his arm? Fuck that! Just fuck it!

§ § §

After his interview with Jim, the rules changed. No, he and Nicky weren’t going to get on a plane and go back to Paris anytime soon, God no. If they did, they’d probably be met by an unsmiling guy with a bulge under his coat, a guy who’d be much less kind and gentle than Jim’s guys. Instead, they’d been cleared to make more trips outside the confines of their apartment, not to mention ones that’d take them further than the corner grocery store. Today, they’d been jogging, their good friend, Special Agent Bob, hanging out with them as they ran in Central Park. Their own personal “detail,” right? Just like Michael.

As Jason walked with Nicky up to a vendor who was selling coffee, he let the twinge that followed that name roll away. Michael wanted nothing to do with him, but that? Not a surprise. Too bad, though, since it looked like they’d have things to talk about, both being spies and all. The irony of that, though, hadn’t dented Michael’s hatred one iota. He despised Jason and wanted nothing to do with him. Period. And that? Yeah, it hurt … a lot more than he’d thought possible. It hurt and he missed Michael like crazy, which was also a surprise. 

Taking the coffee, he sat on a bench in this small area, ripping open sugar packets and pouring the sugar into his drink. As he did, he watched as Nicky bought two big pretzels from another vendor and settled down next to him, passing one over. “This is nice.”

“Being outdoors? It sure is. I was getting claustrophobic.” Jason sipped his coffee and then took a big bite of the pretzel, chewing as he watched all the people running, biking, rollerblading. It’d been a long time since he’d been in New York. A very long time. Some of those memories were awful, but when he’d been studying computer science … well, he’d felt almost normal. That made him think of Conklin. “I wonder when our boss is going to realize something’s up.”

Nicky chewed on her pretzel for a moment, they gave him a wicked smile. “As long as he’s on that yacht with all that good food and drugs not to mention hookers right and left, I don’t think you’re going to be the first item on his list.”

“True.” He tried to imagine a stark-naked Conklin humping a redhead in the middle of an orgy, but the thought made him want to vomit. Jason shrugged, pulling off another piece of his pretzel. “I’ve got enough things to worry about already. I can’t think about that.” Yesterday, he’d told her what Jim had done and she’d given him a big hug when he’d finished. Nicky, huh? What would he do without her? 

“How was your conversation with the shrink?” Nicky asked.

He’d met with Dr. Peña that morning. A small, congenial man, he’d liked his easy-going, but professional manner. He never drifted into a paternal attitude with him, but wasn’t all business either. “It was good,” he told Nicky now. “He said I shouldn’t try to force the memories about the black ops site to surface, but just let that be. They’ll come when they feel like coming, which ... That’s kind of like waiting for the devil to appear, but …” He shrugged. “Uh, he also said that I could train myself to not react to the Metallica song.”

“Oh, wow. How would you do that?”

“Play the song over and over again, using the Nixa word to stop the cycle before it starts. He referred me to this woman who specializes in such things.”

“But wouldn’t you already have dropped into that fugue state by then?”

“At first, maybe, but he thinks with enough repetition, I could reach that stage.”

“That’s great!” Nicky touched his arm. “What a relief that would be. If you need me, I’d be glad to help you with that.”

“Thank you, Nicky. Yeah, it’d be great if it happened.” This whole fucked up thing was making it hard to sleep or even function. He was glad he was still working with Vérité, spending part of his day talking to the members of his staff back in Paris. It gave him a few hours of normalcy. He’d even had e-mails from Michael thanks to that, professional stuff that made no mention of the personal animus between them. It was pathetic that even seeing his name made his heart lurch. Jason drank more coffee. “Who would’ve thought you and I would be in New York, guests of the … of our friends.”

“It’s weird. And not know what’s coming next … that’s creepy.”

“True.” As an operative, he was used to that aspect, but didn’t say anything. “I’m glad there are two of us. I’m not sure I’d be able to deal with this on my own.”

Nicky bumped his leg with hers. “I’m glad I was there when Graeme walked in.”

“So you could go all badass on him?”

“Well, maybe, but I was thinking if I hadn’t been—”

“I would’ve killed Michael.” Jason felt sick at the thought. “Damn, that would’ve been horrible. I’d be in jail right now and there’d be no one to explain what really happened.”

“I wish I knew how Graeme is doing.” Nicky gave him a tight smile. “I’d love to hear that his wound is still bothering him.”

Jason laughed, patting her leg. “Yeah, badass, you’re definitely badass!”

§ § §

Taking a deep breath, Jim walked into the room where both Jason and Michael had been seated. This, he knew, wasn’t going to be pleasant. They sat on either side of a small table, bottles of water in hand, avoiding eye contact. “Thank you for arriving on time, gentlemen,” Jim said as he pulled back a chair on one side of the table, between them. “Jason? While you’ve been dealing with your triggering issue, you’ve been out of the loop about Infernum.” He looked at Michael. “Would you like to tell him?”

Michael, who couldn’t keep the snarl off his face, gave him a tiny shrug, one that clearly said no.

“Okay.” Jim turned toward Jason. “Before this whole thing began—and correct me if I’m wrong—Michael had a conversation with Gustavo Edwards, the guy running Infernum on an interim basis, about the upcoming meetings he’ll be attending. In doing so, he told Gustavo about you.”

Jason’s eyes widened. He looked over at Michael, who was studying the table.

“As I’m sure you know, Jason, Infernum is all about reason and intellect. They abhor all religions, so they’ve been deliberate about accepting homosexuality, not to mention every LGBTQ issue. For that reason, and probably because they’re curious, they’d like Michael’s boyfriend to attend both the cocktail party and the subsequent dinner party, which will be held at Gustavo’s home.”

Jason’s face reflected his astonishment. “Uh, I don’t see how—”

“Agreed. That’s why we’re here.” Jim turned to focus on Michael. “How do you propose we deal with this?”

“Get one of your agents to pose as my boyfriend,” Michael snapped.

“Fortunately, since you didn’t reveal Jason’s name to Edwards during your talk, they may have no idea what he looks like, which makes using an agent a possibility. My agents are well-trained, Michael, but assuming one of them could fake such a thing, well, that’s asking a lot. There’s a certain intimacy between two lovers, something that everyone knows when they see it.” He took a breath. “Besides, if they did some spying that revealed Jason’s name, they’d certainly checked online and find pictures of him, so he’d the only option. They wouldn’t invite him to those two events unless they believed he wasn’t a danger to the organization.”

“You don’t know if that happened,” Michael countered.

“I don’t, but do we want to take a chance that it did?” Jim replied in a soft voice.

“I’m not going with him!” Michael said, his ugly expression hard to watch. 

Jim laid his arms on the table, hands clasped. Staring at Michael, he chose his words with care. “This operation has been going on for—how long—more than a year-and-a-half. As you know, we’re in a great position here, Michael. We not only might be able to get incontrovertible evidence of Infernum’s intent, but we may be able to lay our hands on the Ledger.”

“What’s that?” Jason asked.

“These guys appeared to have been savvy enough to understand how unwise it’d be to keep their deepest, darkest secrets on a computer.” Jim unscrewed the top of his water bottle and took a long sip. “So even when computers became the popular way to do things, they kept their ledger book active, a book that documents every operation they’ve set up.”

“What kind of operations?”

“It could be anything. They’re very focused on remodeling the U.S. into the image they believe will steer it in a direction that will eliminate many of the problems we have. We’ve never been able to prove it, but we believe they target people—and sometimes, groups of people—to eliminate or in some way destroy in order to do this.”

“When you say ‘destroy,’ do you mean set them up with some kind of scandal?” Jason asked.

“That would be one way of doing it. The thing is, by now they’re experts at it. They have what we’d call sleeper agents who’re put into place to run a specific op. It might take months, it might take years, but they eventually achieve what they’ve been tasked to achieve: in one way or another, they eliminate the target.”

“And that, I’m assuming, includes murder?”

“It does, but it’s often disguised as an accident or suicide. That ledger would tell us when it wasn’t.”

Jason looked at Michael, then back at Jim. “That would seem to be important.”

“Which is why we believe it’s crucial that you’re included in this, Jason. We know you have an airtight alias that won’t expose the truth. And we also know you have the training that would give you the ability to collect information from these people. I believe you have an eidetic memory?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Then this needs to happen.” Jim turned his attention back to Michael. “You’ve told me on numerous occasions that you wanted to be rid of this organization and the threat you feel it poses not only to you and your family, but to the U.S. In order to move forward, we need Jason on board. Now, I understand that you feel betrayed by him, but if you listened to what I said earlier, you should be able to understand that Jason is on your side and mine in wanting to take out these people.”

Michael glared at him. “I’ll think about it,” he said after a moment of that.

“Not for too long. The cocktail party is coming up soon. If we’re doing this, Jason will need a suit.”

Michael looked down the length of the table at his former lover. “And a haircut.”

That gave Jim a little hope. “Yes, you’re right, he needs a haircut too. And shoes, underwear, a nice watch, a number of things that make him _your_ boyfriend. You’re high-profile, Michael, so your boyfriend needs to be a reflection of that.”

Michael was still staring at Jason. “All right, I’ll do it,” he said in a low voice.

“You can’t say that and then treat Jason like dirt when you get to the party. Can you do that?”

Michael looked down at the table like he was thinking the whole thing through. “I can.”

Jim looked over at Jason, who looked shocked. “Okay, Michael, but just remember, these folks would turn on you in a heartbeat if they thought you were deceiving them.”

“I realize that.”

Jim looked from one to the other. “Okay, well, good. Then let’s set everything in motion.”


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Twenty-Two**

“Thank you,” Nicky said as the delivery man from Élégant handed over Jason’s suit jacket, watching as the agent on duty escorted him down the hall. Thank God. The cocktail party was tonight and the soft wool jacket they’d bought a few days prior had needed a bit of altering. It’d been enlightening to Nicky, who’d accompanied Jason to several upscale men’s boutiques where the price tags often went into four figures _per item_ , that things could move so quickly. Since Jason used Michael Catalano’s credit card to pay the bill, people sprang into action.

Right now, Jason was out with their guy, Bob, visiting a doctor for an update on his arm and getting his hair cut. The party didn’t start until 4:30 and Michael, being the main attraction, said they wouldn’t leave to go over their until close to five. Keep them waiting, right? The whole event was a way for business leaders, who’d been vetted by Infernum, to mix with others of their ilk as well as people like Gustavo Edwards and, of course, the big guy, the deceased president’s son. No one talked about Infernum, of course, but, rather, their companies and how they might work with one another. Infernum ran a successful mid-sized corporation that had several divisions and, of course, Michael all by himself had one of the most promising new companies, Vérité. People wanted to get on the business radar, just like with any company. The unspoken part of this interaction was the possibility that the CEO might be invited to an Infernum-specific event. Which, in Nicky’s imagination, involved weird robes, spooky masks, strange lighting, and incense. Oh, and chanting, lots of chanting.

She’d had the unfortunate experience of talking to Michael a few days ago. Jim, who could’ve been a cruise director on one of those big ships that took people to exotic places, thought Nicky should be the one to take Jason shopping. They assumed because she was female she had good taste, which was maybe or maybe not true. Plus, she and Jason were friends and Jason would be more relaxed with her. In a small room down the hall, she’d met with Michael, who’d given her an idea as to how Jason should be dressed. They were dealing with the boyfriend of a rich guy, so there could be no scrimping on the clothing. Jason already had the good looks and the chiseled body, but now all that goodness needed to be clothed in a manner befitting his status as the billionaire’s beau. Michael had shown her pictures on his phone and explained the difference between the cocktail party and the upcoming dinner party, with the latter being more formal. He’d given her the names of several places he’d frequented in Manhattan where they’d be able to buy everything Jason needed. During the entire half-hour they’d talked, he’d been courteous, but hadn’t mentioned Jason except where the clothing was concerned. Still, it’d been weird. He’d seemed tense the whole time they were together.

She’d taken off early one morning, Jason in tow, and headed for a number of expensive stores, picking out a suit, shirt, and tie for the dinner party, a more casual soft wool jacket, trousers, and shirt for tonight’s cocktail party as well as underwear, socks, pocket squares, and shoes. A clerk in one store kept calling her “Mrs. Bourne,” which was funny since she’d then handed him Michael’s card. 

Jason tried to stay positive and easy-going, but she knew he wasn’t happy about any of this. Oh, he could do it. The guy had courage to spare, not to mention discipline, so he’d be fine and he’d help the FBI, Michael, all of them in any way he could. Besides, he was used to doing distasteful things. Being scorned by Michael, though, was getting him down and they both had to wonder how Michael would handle it. If anyone at this event detected even the faintest trace of distain toward Jason, the whole op could crater.

She heard the front door being unlocked just before Jason pushed it open. “Hey,” he said when he saw her.

She walked closer to check his hair. “It looks good,” she said. In all the time she’d known Jason, he’d always worn his hair close-cropped. That, she knew, had everything to do with it being quick and easy to wash/style as well as hard to grab. In all the craziness, it’d grown out a bit, so they’d trimmed it back, but now it wasn’t as severe as it had been. Then she noticed his cast, hiding inside what looked like a new, blue sling. “Oh, wow, you got a cover for the cast,” she said as she touched the blue cloth sleeve. “What did the doctor say?”

“She said it was healing at a rapid pace, but she wanted to give it another week given what it’d been through.” He pulled out his arm to show her the cover. “I figured this wouldn’t clash with my outfit. The new cast is smaller, but still pretty sturdy.”

She stroked the soft cover, which was more stylish than the plain white cast underneath it. “It’ll look great. Your suit jacket arrived, so all the parts of your outfit are upstairs.”

“Thanks.” He smiled at her, touching her arm. “You’ve been great. I’m sorry I’ve been so—”

“Oh, stop it.” She returned the smile, then patted his arm. “We’re in this together, right? And we have been for a long time.”

“True.”

She realized he’d also gone to the barbershop Michael recommended. No one wanted him nicking himself just before tonight’s event. “Oh, wow, I didn’t know a professional shave could be so different,” she said, touching his cheek.

He looked amused. “Yeah, I’m turning into a rich man’s plaything right before your eyes.”

Then Nicky had to hug him. “You are so much more than that,” she said at his ear before she stepped back. She took a deep breath. “You know how much I admire you, Jason. Always have.”

His expression went from touched by the words to a quick, playful look to cover that feeling. “Which is why you put Graeme down so effectively, huh? You were copying me!”

She gave him a mischievous smile. “I did, I really did!” she said as they grinned at one another.

§ § §

In the town car, headed for the cocktail party, Jason sat next to Michael, wondering how this was going to go down. Ever since he’d slid in the backseat next to the man, Michael had been on several phone calls, which wasn’t unusual for him, but given how important this party was, what was he thinking? How would they do this? Would he say anything to Jason before they arrived?

“Okay, I know. Yes, I understand,” Michael said, the impatience apparent. “Thank you, Jim. I’ll handle it.” He clicked off the call, exhaled, then turned more in Jason’s direction. “Okay,” he said in a tone that sounded forced. “Let’s get our ducks in a row. We have to … it’s important that we do a rewind and be the people we-we used to be.” He dropped his gaze, but Jason saw the flash of pain in his eyes.

Jason ducked his head so he wouldn’t have to watch Michael’s face. “Yes, sir.” 

“Jason, don’t call me ‘sir!’ For God’s sake, you want to blow the whole operation the minute we walk through the door?”

Jason glanced at him. “It wouldn’t be a problem. I’ve called you sir all along, because of the secrecy in the work relationship.”

“Okay, that’s true, but …” Michael exhaled again and sounded exasperated. “Help me out, here, Jason. We have to have a united front.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I’m just … you’ve been pretty damn hostile, so I didn’t know what to expect.”

“I had reason. You lied to me.”

Jason looked Michael in the eye. “You lied to me too, Michael. Come on! It’d be funny if it wasn’t so fucking serious.”

Michael met him look for look. “Fair point, but now isn’t the time to debate it. Can we call a truce? We have to present a united front, Jason. Our lives could depend upon it.”

“I know that and I’m prepared to do it.”

“You’ve always been … cooperative,” Michael said in a tone that seemed more modulated. “Must be the military training.”

“Probably. You learn to go with the flow.”

“Or you get in big trouble?”

“You do.”

The next words Michael said sounded a bit forced. “Remember how you haggled with that woman in _Androuët_ who tried to charge us double for the _Epoisses_? You argued with her for at least ten minutes.”

Jason blinked. That’d happened during a weekend at Michael’s Paris house. “She thought she could cheat us because we were stupid Americans.”

“When you began arguing with her in your flawless French, she didn’t know what to do.” Michael sounded amused.

“I don’t know about flawless, but I knew she was ripping us off and that was wrong. That’s what I kept saying to her.”

“I was so proud of you that day and-and proud that you were with me,” Michael said in that same constricted tone, although it was overlaid with a new warmth. “It was wonderful, every minute of it.”

“It was wonderful for me too,” Jason said, finding it hard to speak. “That never changed. It-it just all blew up in my face.”

“Tell me about it.” Michael seemed to straighten. “Okay, let’s do this. We’re back to that … to when it was so good between us, when we were in … when we cared for one another.” He took Jason’s hand, squeezing. “Okay?”

Jason’s closed his fingers around Michael’s. “Okay, but I-my feelings haven’t changed, Michael. I want you to know that. Once this is over, we may never be the same, but that? It’s the truth.”

Michael squeezed his hand again and took a ragged breath. “Let’s deal with the here and now.”

“Okay.”

They sat there for ten more minutes, talking about the good times, even smiling and laughing at a few of those moments. Knowing Michael wasn’t going to be a problem, Jason relaxed a little. The whole evening, of course, was fraught with danger up to and including death. These Infernum guys? He knew from all the reading he’d done that they didn’t fool around. If they got even a whiff of what was going on, they’d react with lethal determination. Hell, they probably already had a game plan. As the town car came to a stop in front of the hotel and the doorman opened the car door, Jason sure as hell hoped they didn’t decide to activate it.

§ § §

As they walked into the hotel, Michael took Jason’s hand, his detail behind. People stared as they crossed the lobby and got into the elevator, but Jason had to believe it was more that they recognized Michael then anything to do with being gay. Not in New York City, surely. On the seventeenth floor, they exited the elevator and walked toward a set of double doors at the end of the hall. Jason could hear what sounded like classical music as they drew closer. “Did I mention that you look wonderful?” Michael murmured as the guy at the door nodded at them, pulling the doors open.

“Evening, sir.”

Smiling, Michael nodded at the man.

“Thanks. Not too casual is it?” Jason said, meaning that he didn’t have a tie.

“Not at all. You’re young enough that it’s fashionable. Trust me, you’re going to wow them. Stay close. I don’t want anyone snatching you away.”

Jason opened his mouth to say more, but right then, Michael led him inside. 

The room was huge, filled with a glittering array of people: men in their finest suits, women in cocktail dresses, the wait staff, silver trays held high, weaving their way between the tightly-packed crowd with quick, practiced steps. The room had been designed for a bygone era, one meant for kings and queens, the white columns with their majestic arches, the bejeweled chandeliers, the sweeping staircase … all of it spoke to the wealth present and the influence these people wielded. 

“Michael, Michael!” A small, thin man with a shock of wild black hair and an intensity that made him seem taller walked toward them, hands folded together, a big smile in place. “Hello, my friend!”

“Namaste,” Michael said, hands clasped in a prayerful pose. They embraced, kissing one others’ cheeks in the European style. Then they hugged. “It’s good to see you Gustavo,” Michael said as they came back from the embrace. “It’s been too long.”

“It has.” The man turned his beaming face Jason’s way. “And this must be the man in your life!”

“Exactly right,” Michael said on cue, his tone matching Gustavo’s jovial lilt. “This is Jason Bourne, the man who’s changed my life in so many wonderful ways.”

Jason took the hand Gustavo extended. “Sir.”

Gustavo’s eyes widened as he looked back at Michael. “Oh, my, isn’t he polite.”

“He’s former military and, yes, he’s always polite.”

Jason wasn’t sure he liked being treated like an object, but that appeared to be his role, so he gave Michael a big smile. “Oh, I think I’ve been impolite around you a few times, Michael.”

Michael rolled his eyes at the implication. 

“Michael!” Right then, a woman walked up to stand next to Gustavo. “Hello, my love!” she said as she did the double-kiss thing with him. Smaller than Gustavo, she had long, black hair that curled down her back as well as eyes that same shade of obsidian that flashed like diamonds in the light. Her red sari, replete with glittering silver needlework along the edges, dangling earrings as well as a nose ring, made her stand out even in a room filled with many well-dressed women. “My darling,” she said as she hugged Michael. 

“Jason, this is Gustavo’s wife, Lakshmi. My dear? May I introduce Jason Bourne?”

“Michael, let me admit I never knew you had such exquisite taste,” Lakshmi murmured as she gave her hand to Jason. “You are quite lovely, my dear.”

Jason smiled at the compliment. “And yet, you outshine every single person in this room, male or female,” he murmured he offered his left hand to her.

She laughed, patted his right hand in the sling with a momentary flicker of concern, then linked arms with him. “Oh, I like this one! Come walk with me, Jason. Let me introduce you to a few people who will try not to appear jealous.”

Then he was walking with her, bemused by how the rich lived and what was important to them, doing his best to stay as witty and handsome as she wanted him to be. Soon, he was meeting the CEO and his gorgeous wife, the tennis star and her boyfriend, the plastic surgeon who’d worked on many famous Hollywood stars. Kissed, patted on various body parts, many of these folks had a disturbing look in their eyes. He imagined himself as something enticing that’d been arranged on a platter.

Later, she set him free, so he went back to Michael, who introduced him to several other members of Infernum, although no one used that name. Michael had had two drinks by then and after a lot of chit-chat with the new folks, wanted sparkling water, so Jason went over to one of the bars to get it. As he stood in line, a couple stepped up behind him and before long, they were talking … whispering, really. Jason, however, had very good hearing.

“So they brought it with them,” the woman said and the titillation in her voice was clear. “I saw it when Gustavo walked in.”

“How could you possibly know that’s what it was?” her male partner asked.

“Because that portfolio? It’s really old and it has, uh, like embroidery on it. Hand-stitched designs on the leather spine.”

“What kind of designs?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never seen it up close. I’m telling you, it’s very distinctive. And he always brings it to events like this.” Her voice dropped even more. “It’s inside. The Ledger, it’s inside that portfolio.”

“That’s stupid. If it’s as important as they say it is, why isn’t it tucked away in a heavy-duty safe somewhere?”

“When he’s home, it is,” the woman answered, her voice dropping again. “They’ve got an Amvault, which is one of the best safes ever. Impossible to break into.”

“Where do you get all this information from?”

“I listen!”

Jason stepped up to counter just then and asked for the sparkling water. An Amvault? Yeah, it was a great safe, but not invincible. He was certain he could crack it. “Thank you,” he said as the bartender handled him a tall glass with a sliver of lemon on the rim, ice tingling as he walked. Michael was on one side of the room, talking to someone Jason didn’t know. He stopped, unsure if he should intrude, but Michael motioned him forward.

“Thank you,” he said as he took the soda, then wound his spare arm around Jason as he introduced him to the man. They continued to talk and Jason realized the guy was the CEO of a computer company that people had been talking about. He listened with interest to the discussion, surprised when Michael tightened his grip and then leaned over to kiss his cheek. 

“Never thought I’d see you so smitten,” the guy said with a chuckle.

“Me neither,” Michael replied and then smiled at Jason. A real smile. One Jason had seen many times before this whole thing began. That’s when he remembered Michel’s big plans to out himself, to tell the world who he really was while he showed off his “wonderful lover.” So here they were, huh? He’d done it. Not that that news would make its way out of the room. God, no. These people were here because they wanted in: to Infernum, to all the perks that would afford them. The last thing they wanted was to be responsible for such a leak. 

As he stood with Michael, Jason listened to the conversations all around and found it fascinating. He wasn’t sure, though that he wanted to live this life, although he’d been doing just that since he met Michael, but it was an interesting discussion, nonetheless. Right now, of course, surviving was what he’d like to do, whether in this world or any other. 

Michael’s hand closed around his. “Jason? Gustavo wants a moment with us. Come with me.” Hand in hand, he began to walk toward a set of double doors. They were leaving the main room? Was that wise?”

Inside, they found Gustavo and Lakshmi seated on a small beige couch in a seating area. Gustavo waved Michael and Jason into two adjacent chairs, a smile in place. “This will only take a second,” he said as they sat down. “Uh …” He looked at Lakshmi.

“We’ve enjoyed spending this brief time with you,” she said, looking from Jason to Michael and then back. “Is there any chance you could change your schedule and join us in our country home the day before the dinner party? We’d love to have that extra day to show you our home and have more of a chance to talk about … well, our passion.”

That, Jason knew, meant Infernum. He smiled when Lakshmi turned to stare at him again.

“Jason, I’d love for you to get a good look at our library. Given how much you enjoy reading, I think you’d be fascinated.”

“I’m sure I would,” Jason replied, trying to determine if there was any reason to be concerned by this new gesture. She seemed sincere. “I’d love that, but it’s up to Michael.”

Michael smiled at him when he turned to look at the man. “I think my schedule is free that day, Gustavo. We’d like that, very much.”

“Excellent! I don’t think you’ve seen the house before, have you, Michael? It’s in a secluded area, one that makes for great relaxation.” He waved a hand to gesture at everything around them. “I love New York, but it can make you crazy.”

“It sounds wonderful.”

Gustavo clasped his hands together and looked pleased. “Good, then it’s done. If you find that you can’t make it, let me know, but otherwise, I’ll text you the necessary information.”

“Thank you Michael, Lakshmi. We appreciate the invitation,” Michael said.

§ § §

Nicky was curled up on the couch, snuggled under a blanket as she drank cocoa while she watched “Sleepless in Seattle,” one of her favorite rom-coms. Yes, it’d gotten cold and the weatherman was talking about lots of rain, which made her feel even colder. She’d been thinking about Jason and hoping the cocktail party went well. Given how chilly Michael had been toward him, she’d had her fingers crossed all night. If there’s one thing Jason didn’t need, it was more hostility. Michael was a smart guy, right? Surely, he could put the pieces together and see that Jason had only done what he had to do. And even if he couldn’t, he must realize that his life was at stake, that he had to fake it for all he was worth.

Then she heard the key in the lock. A moment later, Jason was standing inside the door. Oh, shit! He did not look happy. “Hey,” he said as if he’d just realized she was there. 

“Hey.” She cleared room on the couch, switching off the TV. “How’d it go?”

He shrugged out of his overcoat, hanging it in the closet before he came to sit with her. Then he sat on the edge of couch, hands clasped, and didn’t speak for what seemed like minutes of strained silence. “Uh, it went well … at least, it was going well until we left the party and headed home.”

“How come?”

Jason rubbed the corner of one eye. “Jim wanted to hot mike my phone, hoping he might catch something interesting. But he didn’t want me telling Michael.” Jason sucked air. “He also gave me specific instructions. Things to look for, people to talk to if I got a chance, that kind of thing.”

Nicky was nodding. “Hot mike,” she knew, meant that his phone had been set up to record every conversation anywhere close to him. “That makes sense. You’re trained in that and Jim knows it. It’d be like him talking to one of his own men. Michael isn’t trained. He might give away something.”

Jason twisted his mouth and she saw the sudden flash of pain in his eyes. “Yeah, unfortunately he didn’t see it that way. When Jim called and it all came out, he got very ticked off … not at Jim, at me. All the good will that’d been built up between us because it’s what he had to do? That disappeared.” He pressed his lips together and Nicky realized how painful that had been. “He just … yelled. Blamed me all over again for everything.”

“Oh, Jason …” Fuck, he could not catch a break. “I’m so sorry. He’s being unreasonable, you must know that.”

Chewing on his inner lip, Jason stared at the floor. “He is, but … Nicky? The thing is I-I love him, still. It’s so fucked up, but true. And given everything, it’s dangerous as hell for me to even indulge in that shit, but still … it hurts.”

She leaned close to kiss his cheek. “I’m sorry. I know I’d feel the same way.” She rubbed his arm. “How about some dinner? There couldn’t have been much to eat at a cocktail party.”

“There wasn’t.” Jason stared at nothing and for a long moment he was silent. “Thank you, but I think I’ll go to bed.”

“Jason, you have to eat.”

“Maybe later.” He forced a smile, then touched her hand. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Nicky. You’re the best friend ever.”

She smiled, grasping his hand for a quick squeeze before he stood up. “If you change your mind, there’s soup in the fridge.”

“Okay, thanks.”

She watched him until he’d gone up with stairs to the loft. God, this whole thing was fucked up, so fucked up.

How in hell would it end? That question? It scared her more than anything else.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Twenty-Three**

Running at a pretty good pace, Jason turned onto the two-lane road that would take him back to Gustavo and Lakshmi’s gorgeous home. They’d gotten in late last night—him, Michael, and the two agents—then had a polite snack with their hosts before they went to bed. He hadn’t slept well, though, so he’d gotten dressed and went for a run with Bill, who was more of a runner than the other agent, Samuel. It’d been just a bit after six when he left.

As he ran, he was still chewing on the news they’d gotten yesterday, before they left New York. Jim had shown up at their small apartment to tell them something he’d been withholding: while they were still on board that party yacht somewhere in the Mediterranean, Conklin and Abbott had been involved in a terrorist attack. A group of men turned up in the middle of the night and got the drop on the yacht’s security. Holy, shit! At least ten men had boarded that ship, shooting people in their sleep, rounding up others to throw in the sea, doing a lot of damage to both life and property. Abbott had gotten the worst of it and was clinging to life by an unraveling thread. Conklin was doing better, but still not ready to check out of the hospital. They’d both wondered why Conklin had been so out of touch. Sure, a party like that could go on for days and days, but it’d been more than two-and-a-half weeks and other than a few low-key emails and phone messages there’d been nothing to suggest Conklin had any concerns about either of them. Now they knew why. 

Still astonished, Jason shook his head. No, it wasn’t the work of the FBI, but Jim said they were investigating whether there was an Infernum connection, although they were usually a lot more low-key than that. It seemed more likely that one of a number of small terrorist groups in the area had targeted that yacht both to send a message as well as rob all the wealthy people onboard. Or maybe it was the CIA? It wasn’t unheard of for rogue elements in the agency to terminate someone they no longer needed. Meanwhile, Jim told them there was no reason for concern, although … Jason wasn’t so sure. He wanted to rejoice that Conklin might be out of his life, but the whole thing was so weird, it was hard to relax.

Still, it’s what he had to do. He’d turned up at this beautiful house far from New York and now he had to move on, which maybe was a good thing. The only downside? He also had to sleep with Michael ... or, at least, appear to be. They were a couple, right? It’d look pretty damn suspicious if he’d wanted a separate bedroom, so, after they’d arrived last night, they’d shared a room, although Jason had grabbed an extra blanket and pillow, then slept on the couch. Which was why he’d slept so poorly. Still, Michael must have gotten another lecture from Jim because so far he was behaving in a subdued manner, leaving the scathing comments for a less risky moment. 

At the front door, Jason stood with Bill chatting for a moment while his heart rate returned to normal and the cool air evaporated some of the sweat. “Thanks, Bill,” he said finally, watching as the agent headed to the guest house to get his shower. Just inside the front door, Jason stopped as Lakshmi walked toward him, waving and smiling. She’d adopted him, sort of. A kid brother, maybe? Whatever the reason, he wasn’t getting any bad vibes from her, so … “Hey.”

“Hello, darling.” She gave him a wide smile. “You said you wanted to see the library. This would be a good time for me.”

He nodded. “Can I take a quick shower?” He gestured at his sweaty self. “At present, I wouldn’t be good company.”

She stroked his arm. “Oh, I’m sure you would, but, yes, how about we meet upstairs in … a half-hour?”

He nodded. “Sounds great.” Giving her a smile, he turned to make his way upstairs. Damn, was she coming on to him? That would not be good, at all. Maybe, though, he was imagining things. After all, how many women in his life had made a move on him? Not that many, although Nicky told him he had a habit of mentally blocking such advances, which made sense. In spy work, that was important. The last thing you wanted was someone getting close to you or complicating your life. Damn, maybe that’s what he was doing now, although Lakshmi knew he was gay, right? So none of it made sense. 

Michael wasn’t in their room, so Jason showered and threw on fresh clothes as quickly as he could. Then he went down the hall to find Lakshmi waiting. They went into the massive library, which … hell, it was amazing! There had to be thousands of books lining the shelves. “Wow!” he said as he pivoted from one wall to another, all of them dark-wood shelves from floor to ceiling. All that darkness was offset by a huge window at one end of the room, also floor-to-ceiling. Next to it, a spiral staircase wound up to what looked like a small private area on the second floor with seating and another window. Jason’s mouth fell open.

Lakshmi laughed. “There’s also a half-bath,” she said, pointing to a door tucked away in one corner. “And that door up there? It leads down to the mud room, which is just off the kitchen.”

“In case you need a snack?” Jason said as he gave his head a shake.

“Exactly!” Taking him by the arm, she walked with him, explaining the various categories as they examined the shelved books. They must’ve done that for at least twenty minutes and that’s when Jason spotted an attaché case that looked like the item that woman at the cocktail party had described: a leather, ledger-sized portfolio that had colorful stitching on its spine. It was sitting on a shelf between several huge books. Was the infamous Ledger inside? Why, though, would something so important be sitting on a shelf, right out in the open? Hiding in plain sight? Hmm. Maybe. Shit, she’d walked him right by it. 

By the time she was showing him Gustavo’s massive desk, Jason’s Spidey-sense had started to ping. He wondered if there was an ulterior motive for this tour, although he had a hard time imagining Lakshmi working against her husband. Still, there was no doubt that the Amvault safe he’d also heard about was behind the desk, just to one side, big as life. Weird and weirder. Of course, Lakshmi had no idea he knew what he knew or even who he was … right? Although, were the portfolio and the safe common knowledge among the Infernum wannabes? And might she believe that included him?

“This is all so amazing,” he said at least three times, maintaining his starry-eyed wonder for her benefit. If it’d been Gustavo conducting the tour, he would’ve been concerned by the apparent subtext, but Lakshmi seemed to be sincere, so she was either a practiced liar or was genuinely giving him a tour, with or without a few extra clues. 

They pulled out a couple of religious-themed books, including an old copy of the Bible she’d picked up in an estate sale, and sat on one of the couches for a while as they discussed Christianity as well as Hinduism, talking about their upbringing, hashing out the similarities and the differences. Jason enjoyed it, but he was a little worried. She’d done nothing overt, but he’d always had a kind of weird sixth sense and, yeah, it was pinging like mad. The whole thing seemed a bit like the homeowner walking the thief through her property. I mean, she’d even mentioned the escape route—the door that lead down to the mudroom—which he would not have known about or even seen.

Later, back in their room, Jason paced as he tried to figure out if something was wrong. Could he be paranoid? After all, if these folks knew who he was and who he worked for, they’d put a bullet in him without any hesitation. Infernum and the CIA could never exist in the same space. Still, he couldn’t be sure. Fortunately, Michael was nowhere to be found. He’d said something about taking a walk, so maybe he was outside, although it’d looked like it was going to rain. 

When he made his decision, Jason worked fast. He didn’t have a gun or even a knife because it would’ve been too risky. If suspicion had been cast on him, the first thing they’d do is search him. Any weapon had to be covert. In the bathroom, the door locked, he managed to snap off the top of his toothbrush. Then, crouched down, he began to sharpen the ragged end into a point, using the grout between the room’s large stone tiles to do the job. A shiv, he was making a fucking shiv. 

It didn’t take long. Standing back up, Jason took his arm out of the sling and removed the blue cover over his cast, glad for the first time that he still had the heavy, clunky thing. He held it out, testing the weight. One blow might do the trick. He was barely able to slide the completed shiv into the cast, far enough that it’d be concealed, but still close at hand. With the sling in place, it’d be hidden, but accessible if he needed it. It wasn’t much, but it’d have to do.

Looking up, he saw his expression in the mirror: determined, fearless, ready to fight.

Jason blew out air. Fuck. He hated his life.

§ § §

By four, both of them were dressed. Michael even commented about the suit Nicky had helped him picked out: told him he looked handsome. Jason knew he was working to get into the proper loving mood, so he responded in kind and the tension between them began to ease. Michael told him that Gustavo had asked him to be ready by five. He wanted both of them in the living room, helping him greet the guests before the dinner began at six. This group, unlike the cocktail party, would be top-level Infernum people there to meet with/talk to Michael about his commitment to lead the organization not to mention his desire to run for the presidency. It’d be a tough night of lying and Jason was prepared to do whatever he could to facilitate that. They’d even discussed if Jason’s presence in Michael’s life might be a problem. Since they wouldn’t be operating according to Infernum’s principles, Michael would say that he was a bachelor presidential candidate who’d depend on his sister and daughter to take on the duties of a first lady. Jason? He’d be introduced as Michael’s “body man.” A modern-day position used by several presidents, the body man would assist the president both at the White House and on the road without raising any suspicions about inappropriate behavior the way a young woman might. Yeah, the idea was a little outdated, but Michael would be on the conservative side of things, so it’d be fine.

A loud rap on the door made Jason draw in a sharp breath. When Michael opened it, Gustavo stood there, a tight smile in place. “Michael? Before we get started, we need to talk. You, me, and Jason.” He managed another smile that seemed more of a grimace. “Can you join me in the library?”

“Certainly.” Michael grabbed his suitcoat and gave Jason a look as he did. Then they were walking down the hall toward the library, Jason’s heart pounding. Fuck, why’d he always have to be right about this shit? When Michael took his hand, he squeezed it twice and Michael returned the signal. His detail? They were nowhere to be found, which was a bad sign, especially since there were two goons waiting at the library’s entrance. One of them had a woven basket in hand as if he’d be collecting tickets or maybe offering muffins. 

“Let’s leave our cell phones here,” Gustavo said as he pulled his out and dropped it in the basket. “I don’t want any distractions.”

Another bad sign, however ... “Sure,” Michael said as he pulled his out of his inner pocket and laid it next to Gustavo’s.

Jason did the same. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Like a train without brakes on a steep downward turn, this was going south at an alarming rate.

Inside, as they walked toward the small seating area where he’d sat with Lakshmi a few hours ago, Jason heard the footsteps of the two goons behind. The _muscle_ was going to be part of this? Bad. As Gustavo walked around the seating area, Jason spotted the two chairs that had been facing the man’s huge desk. They’d been turned around. Behind those chairs, on the desk, he recognized a familiar blue-and-gold bag that propelled his brain into a strong DEFCON 2: plastic ties. The bag held plastic ties and in another moment they’d be shoved into those chairs, their hands bound to the chair’s arms, their feet to the legs. Then they’d be the subjects of an interrogation and God only knows what else. 

Taking a quick breath and with only a moment to spare, Jason didn’t hesitate.

With minimal movement, he slipped his injured arm out of the sling, retrieving the shiv as he did. As he jerked around, the guy behind him looked surprised right before Jason slammed him in the face with the cast, breaking his nose as blood flew everywhere. The goon screamed, jerking up a hand, palm up, as if to defend himself. With a forcible upward thrust, Jason stabbed him in the hand and the guy screamed again, dropping to his knees. Jason kicked him in the head and he fell to one side, moaning.

With a quick move, the second guy pulled a pistol out of his pocket and shot Jason in the shoulder, although that only slowed him down for a few seconds.

Gritting his teeth against the sudden explosion of pain, Jason grabbed the guy’s arm and gave it a violent twist, then knocked the gun out his hand, punched him in the throat, and stabbed him in the chest with the bloody shiv. For good measure, he kneed him in the groin. With a yelp, the second operative hit the floor.

To his credit, Michael made a dive for the gun the instant it flew through the air, holding it on Gustavo, then on both goons. “You’ve been shot,” he murmured when Jason came to his side, rock steady.

“It’s okay.” He took the handkerchief Michael handed him, pushing it under his shirt to staunch the blood. Then he took the gun. “Get the ties over there on the desk. We have to move quickly.”

“You won’t get away with this,” Gustavo said, his tone a deep snarl, as Michael walked around him.

Jason waited while Michael retrieved the ties, then used them to tie up both goons, hand and foot. At Jason’s direction, he used an additional tie to secure them to the foot of the couch in the seating area, a heavy motherfucker that ought to keep them from going anywhere, although at the moment both men were barely conscious. Then Michael bound Gustavo to one of the chairs near his desk.

“What gave it away?” Jason asked him once this had been done.

Gustavo glared. “A Vérité employee was in Berlin when you were there,” he said, tightlipped and angry. “He was following you around, snapping pictures. He took several of you going into the CIA building.”

Shit! Who in hell had that been? Who would fucking do such a thing? 

“Up until then, you seemed to be who you said you were, but that? It set off alarm bells.”

Alejandro Valdez! The fucked-up son of a bitch who’d come onto him time and time again. It had to be him. “I’ll have to thank him,” he said, pushing aside that rage for another time.

“You won’t get out of this alive.” Gustavo took a second to gloat. “Your detail … well, they’re … indisposed.”

Dead? Probably. Again, he refused to dwell on it. Jason handed the gun to Michael. “We need gags. If anyone wants to yell, shoot them in the leg.”

Michael gave him a steely-eyed looked as he nodded. Jason had to give him credit, he’d snapped into action without asking even one question. The guy knew when serious shit was going down, although, yeah, he’d been there when his father died, so he’d had some experience.

Jason rummaged around in Gustavo’s desk until he found a pair of scissors. Then he went to the half-bath and cut up a towel, fashioning a large knot in the center of each gag. 

Back with Michael, he gagged the two goons first, tying them tight, but making sure the guy with the broken nose could still breathe. Then he handed the third gag to Michael. “Go ahead. He deserves it. While you do that, I’ll get the Ledger.”

Michael’s eyes widened. “You know where it is?”

“I think so,” he said as he went around the desk and grabbed the portfolio. Empty, just as he’d thought.

Gustavo craned his neck, smiling with glee. “You’ll never find it.”

“Oh, I think I have an idea where it is.” Jason brought the portfolio with him, then laid it down on a table near the section of books where he thought he’d … “Ah, here it is,” he said as he pulled the thing down.

“You can’t take it!” Gustavo yelled right before Michael jabbed the knotted piece of towel in his mouth.

Jason slid the Ledger back into the portfolio and closed the thing tight, waiting as Michael finished. “We have to get out of here.”

“How? They certainly have other guys guarding the place.”

“Follow me.” He led Michael up the spiral staircase, then pulled open the door that led them down. 

“How’d you know about this?” Michael said as he followed him.

“Lakshmi. I almost want to believe she was trying to help me.”

At the bottom, in the mud room, they found windbreakers hanging on pegs and grabbed them before they walked out the door. By now, the rain was coming down hard.

“Let’s try to find our guys or at least get the car,” Michael suggested as they stood there.

Jason gave his head a curt shake. “The guys are likely dead and the risk is too great, since we have no idea who might be out front or watching from a window.” He gestured toward the woods behind the house. “We need to go this way. Won’t be fun, but it’s our best chance.”

Michael stared at him, a new respect in place. “I don’t know this you,” he murmured as he drew close to kiss his cheek. “Okay, I trust your judgment, let’s go.”

“You better take this.” Jason handed him the portfolio which he stuck under his windbreaker, then nodded, leading them down a walkway and on into the woods. A few hundred yards later, they found a small stream, which they were able to cross even though the rain had already swollen it. Glancing behind, Jason saw no one in pursuit. Good. No one knew what’d happened … yet. “We need to get as far from here as possible,” he said as they shook the water off their shoes.

“I’m sure we’ll find a house somewhere. Then we can call the police.” Michael frowned. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Hurts like hell, but it’s not serious.” Since he was lying, he gave Michael a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. You’re right, we need to find another house.” He began to walk, Michael by his side. They did, didn’t they? Soon.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Twenty-Four**

They’d walked a good hour without finding one single house or even a road that might lead them to a phone, people, police, something, anything. Instead, Michael feared, they’d walked deeper and deeper into a forest that was “largely undeveloped,” according to Gustavo. One arm around Jason, who was doing his best to stay on his feet, but was losing that battle, Michael shook his head when he saw a real, honest-to-goodness house come into view up ahead, unable to believe it. “Look!”

Jason frowned. “We’ll be sitting ducks there, Michael. It’s the only house in the whole area.”

Michael wiped the rain out of his eyes. “We have to seek shelter, Jason. If this rain was coming down any harder, I’d be looking for an ark.” A loud double boom appeared to accentuate his words. “Do we drown, get hit by lightning, have a tree fall on us, or take a chance there’s a phone, people, something inside that house that’ll help?”

“Okay, I guess that makes sense.”

Barely able to see, Michael walked them to the front door of the house and pounded on it for all he was worth. Nothing. “Hello!” he yelled, pounding again. Another thunderclap and, yes, lightning lit up the sky. “Damn, we can’t stay out here.”

Jason took a step closer, testing the doorknob, kicking the door. “Doesn’t look like much of a challenge,” he said. “If I had any tool, I could pick the lock, but—”

“Will this help?” Michael asked, holding up the pocket knife he’d taken out of his soggy coat pocket. “Not mine. It was in the pocket, but …”

“It will.” Jason open the knife, crouched down and began to work on the door. As he did, Michael turned to look at the driveway that encircled this place. A driveway meant there had to be a road somewhere, even though he couldn’t see it thanks to the rain and the encroaching darkness. This was a big house, not a tiny shack someone might backpack into. So out there, somewhere, was the elusive road. As soon as it stopped raining, they needed to find it. 

It took Jason maybe three minutes, but then the door swung back. 

Inside, they walked up the stairs and then dripped on a large, multi-colored scatter rug as they looked around. Shedding their dripping windbreakers, they searched for a phone, but didn’t find one anywhere in the ranch-style house. “Damn cell phones,” murmured Michael as they walked back toward the living area. “You’d think they’d have at least one landline for emergencies.”

“Lots of people don’t have landlines anymore. And even the ones that do, it usually connects to the Internet.” Jason looked around. “No computers, either—nothing that’d indicate they use computers, like a router.”

Michael wished he hadn’t so readily given his phone to those assholes, but nothing to do about that now. He hadn’t had a choice. At one of the windows, he watched the river outside, churning like crazy thanks to the rain. “Too bad there’s not a boat out there,” he murmured. “Something big enough to handle the swollen river.”

Jason came closer to stare. “There’s a dock. Maybe there’s a canoe or kayak somewhere.”

“Much too small. I’m not sure that’d be such a good idea, especially in the rain.”

“Yeah. True.”

Michael was frustrated by all of it, but even worse, he was worried about Jason, who, in addition to being as soaked as he was, was a concerning shade of white thanks to the bullet that’d gone through his shoulder. Even so, he hadn’t complained about it or anything else. “Okay, let’s check the garage, then we’re finding the bathroom and I’m looking at that shoulder.”

Of course, there was no car in the garage … or any kind of boat. Who left a car, boat, tricycle, _anything_ in what was obviously a vacation home? “Shit,” Michael said as he sat Jason down on the toilet seat in the bathroom and peeled off his suitcoat and blue dress shirt. The whole left side of the shirt was bloody, both front and back. “I guess it’s a good thing that the bullet went through your shoulder,” Michael said, striving to control his panic as he noted the ragged holes in the suitcoat and shirt. 

“True.” 

Michael found an assortment of first-aid supplies in the medicine cabinet. Thank God. He took out a bunch of things and then used hydrogen peroxide to cleanse the wound. Unlike alcohol, it didn’t sting, although it foamed a bit over the gashes the bullet had made in Jason’s shoulder. After he’d dried the areas, front and back, he applied Neosporin and then used a bunch of gauze rectangles on each area, holding them in place with strips of surgical tape. “I hope that’ll slow down the bleeding,” he said as he finished, giving Jason a reassuring smile.

“It looks like most of the blood is on the shirt.”

“Speaking of shirts …” He patted Jason’s shoulder. “Sit still for a moment.” Then he went down the hall to where the bedrooms were located. The first two rooms yielded nothing, but in the third room he found a blue sweatshirt folded in a drawer that was a bit large for Jason, but would nonetheless work. And it was clean.

By the time he’d returned to the bathroom, though, Jason was gone. Clutching the shirt, he searched the house with a forced calm, finding him after a good ten minutes when he walked into the living room. “What were you doing?” he asked when he noticed he was holding the portfolio that contained the Ledger.

“Looking for a replacement.” Jason opened the portfolio to show him that it was empty.

“You hid it?”

“I did.” Jason turned, walking over to the stacks of books along one wall, searching for a moment before he pulled one out and stuck it in the portfolio, zipping up the thing and then fastening the straps. He set it on a nearby table.

“Where’s the original?”

“I’m not telling you.” Jason walked closer to the kitchen window. “It’s dark outside and still raining like hell, so we’re stuck here. That might be okay for tonight, but as soon as it gets light, I think they’ll be here. If they catch us, it’s the only thing that’ll keep me alive.”

“Both of us.”

Jason shook his head. “I don’t think they’ll kill you, Michael. You’re Charles Catalano’s only son and he’s revered by Infernum. They can pin all the blame on me and tell the flock I seduced you … some crap like that.”

Michael stared at him. “Come closer, please,” he said as he held out a hand.

Jason walked over to him and Michael took his hand, pulling him into a gentle embrace. “You’re trying to save my life,” he whispered, close to tears. “I can’t believe how I’ve misjudged you not to mention how horribly I’ve treated you.”

Jason gave him a careful hug, favoring his good shoulder. “It’s all been more than a little crazy.”

He could feel Jason’s shivering. “Here,” Michael said and helped him put on the sweatshirt, noticing the ragged condition of his cast as he did. Damn, there was a hole in the thing, probably from when he’d flattened that thug. That made him hug Jason again. “Let me see if there’s anything in the cupboards before it gets too dark. Even a hot drink would help,” he said, leading Jason to the couch and covering him with the red and black throw draped across the back. Then, the tears still in his eyes, he went to the kitchen where he found a gas stove that still worked and a tin with tea bags in it. Shortly, he had hot tea and came to sit with Jason.

“Thanks,” Jason said as he took the cup, wrapping his hands around. “You … don’t hate me anymore, right? That’s what you were saying?”

Michael moved closer, arm around Jason’s waist, hoping he could supply body heat. “This whole thing with you and me … it was killing me, Jason, and I’m not saying that for sympathy. I guess … on some level, I always thought having a lover like you was too good to be true for someone like me, that it had to be … that something had to be wrong because I was not that desirable except money-wise. I was afraid to be happy because I feared the whole thing would blow up in my face.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “And I wanted it to succeed, so much … so fucking much.”

“So your worst fear came true.”

“Through no fault of your own,” Michael said gently. “Nicky tried to tell me what you’d been through and all I could do—” He stopped thanks to the hitch in his voice. “I’m a goddamn idiot. It didn’t dawn on me you were telling the truth until you took on those two thugs without any hesitation, then got us out of there and—”

“—ended up here,” Jason finished for him. He took a ragged breath and then sipped his tea. “Thanks for saying that. I … did what I was told to do, Michael, but it went way beyond that in a short amount of time. The feelings, though? They were always real. All my life I-I never had that kind of a relationship and it—you were wonderful, really wonderful. You short-change yourself if you think otherwise.”

Michael turned his head and kissed Jason’s cheek. “Let’s hope we can get back there, Jason.”

Jason laid his head against Michel’s shoulder. “I’m hoping as hard as I can, Michael. Really, really hard.”

“Me too.”

§ § §

In the haze of sleep, Michael imagined strange sounds. Real? Dream? Car motors revved up, car doors slammed, loud male voices, glass breaking … Michael jerked upright, awake, heart thumping. For a disorienting moment, he didn’t know where he was or what had happened, only aware that daylight had found them and some kind of internal alarm had been activated.

An instant later, Jason stirred, throwing off the covers, and jumped up. “They’ve found us!” he said and ran to where he’d left the portfolio with the fake ledger inside, grabbing it as he looked back at Michael. “I’ll do what I can, but—”

Light poured through the windows behind him. Coming to his feet, Michael stared at Jason. “I know. I love you. If you can get away from them—”

“I love you too. Just trying to buy us a little time, but, no, I’d never leave you.”

They heard the sound of wood splintering as someone kicked the door downstairs. At that same moment, Jason yanked open the kitchen window and shoved till the screen dropped before he climbed over the ledge. With one last look at Michael, he jumped.

Deep scowls in place, two thugs stormed up the steps, guns drawn. “Catalano’s up here!” the first one shouted as he aimed a gun at Michael. “Where’s Bourne?”

Quick footsteps, then Gustavo shoved his way through the two men, laughably small next to them. “Answer him, Michael! Where’s Jason? And where’s my fucking Ledger?”

Asshole! Michael pointed to the open window. “He just left.”

Gustavo rushed to the window, leaning on the sill as he looked out. “Get him!” he screamed, slamming his hands on the ledge like a petulant child. “Stop him! No, no!” He turned toward Michael. “What in hell does he think he’s doing?”

Michael looked from one man to another. “What’d he do?”

“He tossed the portfolio into the river,” Gustavo yelped, fists clenched, his face reddening as he glared at Michael. “Why would he do that?”

Michael stared. Goddamn, Jason had balls. “I don’t know. Ask him.”

Gustavo looked grim. “Oh, I will, believe me, I will.”

A few minutes later, two guys dragged Jason up the stairs and into the living room. He had a cut across his right cheek, blood trickling from the wound, and appeared to be having trouble standing. “What did you do to him?” Michael demanded, stepping forward to take a closer look. _His_ two thugs gave him a violent jerk, wrenching him back. 

Gustavo stepped closer to Jason. “Tie him to one of those chairs,” he said, pointing to the dining room. “And for God’s sake, find some way to get that cast off his arm.” He stepped closer to fix Jason with a malicious grin. “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you, you son of a bitch? Well, let’s see how smart you are. I’m guessing it won’t take long for you to tell me where the fuck my Ledger is!”

“It’s floating down the goddamn river!” Jason said, spitting out the words just before one of the goons smacked him in the face.

“Get a second chair out here and tie Michael to it,” Gustavo ordered, jabbing a finger his way. He gave Michael a nasty smile. “Set him close enough that he won’t miss a thing, but not so close that he gets spattered with blood.”

As the two men dragged Michael to a chair and slammed him down, wrestling his arms behind his back before they tied his hands, he was shouting at Gustavo. “You leave Jason alone! He told you: the Ledger went into the river. What in hell more do you want? What’re you going to do? Kill both of us? I’m sure that’ll boost Infernum’s image!” 

“I know damn well you didn’t let that Ledger go into the river. It’s too damn important and would give you all the information you’d need to prosecute each and every one of us.” Gustavo watched as the men bound Michael’s feet to the chair. “So if you know where it is, you’d save your boyfriend a whole hell of a lot of pain by telling me.”

“He doesn’t know anything!” Jason said between clinched teeth as he was bound to his own chair. “But he’s right—the Ledger went into the river and you watched the whole fucking thing you asshole!” He hissed as the asset smacked him again.

“Stop! Leave him alone!” A chill went down Michael’s spine. Buying time? Jason meant to use himself as the sacrificial lamb, hoping the FBI would find them before it was too late. “Stop!” he screamed as the same asshole hit Jason backhanded across the face several times, then punched him in the stomach. 

“Where’s the Ledger, Michael?” Gustavo stood over him. “Tell me where he hid it and this can be over.”

The thug punched Jason so hard his head snapped back.

“I don’t know where it is,” Michael said, angry and horrified. “And what does that even mean, Gustavo? Over? How? You kill us?”

With a mocking smile, Gustavo patted his cheek. “No way, Michael. I’d never kill _you._ Your daddy up there in heaven would _not_ be pleased.”

Michael looked into the man’s eyes. “Then why in hell would Jason give you the information you want, you idiot? He knows how it’ll end!”

“At some point, death will become an attractive option.”

Michael struggled against his restraints. “You fucking monster!”

One of the assets returned from the garage, a pair of wire cutters in hand. Working none to gently, they cut off Jason’s cast, drawing a flinch from him when they nipped him with the blade. 

“Good, good,” Gustavo murmured as if he was watching a sporting event. He glanced at Michael. “Looks like he’s bleeding,” he said in a mock sympathetic voice.

Michael bit his inner lip, refusing to take the bait, though he hurt all over as drops of Jason’s blood hit the floor.

As those same men went back to beating Jason, Gustavo turned to the other assets. “Tear this place apart! We have to find the Ledger. I’m giving a ten-grand bonus to the guy who recovers it.”

The men scattered, ripping up carpets, emptying bookshelves, opening closets, cupboards, closets … anyplace a ledger could be hidden. 

After another excruciating few minutes, Gustavo told the men working on Jason to stop. The minute they did, Jason’s head dropped and his breathing was so labored, Michel could hear it from where he sat. There was blood on him, on his clothes, on the floor. A trickle of blood made its way down one side of his face and one of his eyes was already swollen shut. 

Gustavo grabbed another chair and slammed himself down in front of Michael. “Okay, now we talk life-and-death. You see him, you know where it’s going. Tell me where Jason hid the Ledger and I promise to spare his life.”

Michael stared at him, not believing it for even a second. “You’re not listening to me. I don’t know. He did it on his own and didn’t tell me.”

Gustavo glared. “Okay. Did you know he worked for the CIA?”

“No.”

“But he did and he was spying on you? Trying to get to us through your association, or, rather, your father’s association, with Infernum.”

Michael stared at him, refusing to confirm or deny anything.

Gustavo leaned forward, hands clasped. “Listen to me, Michael. You better fucking answer my questions if you want your boyfriend to survive. I need all the information I can get, do you understand? I might not put a bullet in _your_ head, but I sure as shit don’t mind killing Jason. You get that? He’s collateral damage and, from what I understand, he can disappear. I don’t think the CIA is going to come riding to the rescue on their white horses. Talk to me!” 

At that moment, Jason’s breathing accelerated even more and he began to murmur something under his breath, the words jumbled and incoherent as he saw something no one else could see. Michael felt sick to his stomach. God, he’d been triggered.

“Shut up!” one of the thugs spit out, raising a hand to strike him.

“No more!” Gustavo said to the guy, then turned back to Michael. “Was he trying to get information about us?”

Michael drew a ragged breath. “Yes.”

“Did he succeed?”

“Only in a limited sense.”

Gustavo didn’t look convinced. “And yet, he became your boyfriend and accompanied you to New York. Seems like he was pretty deep into the whole spy thing, not to mention _you._ Doesn’t sound so limited to me. I’d have a hard time believing he was any kind of serious threat unless he—”

“Just before we left Paris, he tried to kill me,” Michael snapped two seconds before he realized he should’ve kept his big mouth shut.

“Kill you? Why in hell would he—?”

Jason’s breathing was louder and he was moaning in a way that broke Michael’s heart, reliving a terrible experience much like this one. “The CIA programmed him,” he told Gustavo in the next instant. “They had him in a black ops site and-and forced him to react if a certain song was played. I don’t—can’t say that either of us have any loyalty to those assholes.”

“Programmed?” Gustavo’s eyes widened. “Like a Manchurian candidate?”

“Yes.”

“Come on, Michael, that’s bullshit.”

“No, it isn’t. He was set off by a CIA guy and came for me, gun in hand. He would’ve killed me except that Nicky managed to intervene.”

“Nicky?”

“Jason’s CIA colleague.”

“This was in Paris?” Gustavo waited for his nod. “And the police were fine with that? That makes no fucking sense.”

“We got out of there quickly.”

Gustavo looked even more skeptical. “So they just shrugged and let it go? No follow up, no CCTV footage, no nothing?”

“Well, the FBI spoke with them and fixed things so that they—” Rattled, Michael shut his mouth. Shit! He hadn’t thought this through at all.

“The FBI?” The alarm in Gustavo’s voice could not be mistaken. “They’re part of this too?” Michael glared as Gustavo pushed closer. For a long moment, he studied Michael. “You fucking asshole. You’ve been working with them all along!” he murmured, his voice a low growl as he jabbed a finger close to Michael’s face. “Maybe both Bourne _and_ you are expendable, you motherfucking son of a bitch!”

One of the two thugs who’d beaten Jason gave him a sudden shake. “Shut the fuck up, you little bitch!” 

“Well, Gustavo,” Michael said, pissed all to hell, “that may depend on what the status is of my detail. They’re trained to check in every two hours.”

Gustavo’s mouth dropped open. “Those guys were FBI? Motherfucking son of a bitch!” He raised a hand as if to smack Michael, then changed his mind and jumped up. “Ed, Andrew! Take Bourne and put him in the back of my car, then get this one.” He whirled around until he spotted one of the other assets. “Jeff! You’re in charge here. Tear this place apart, but keep a lookout for anyone approaching the house because it could be the Feds. The Ledger has to be hidden somewhere. Keep in touch with me. If you find it, head for the airport, but if we’ve already left, find a place to stay and lay low until I can retrieve you.” He pointed at the other thug. “You guys find this and there’s good money in it for both of you. Very good money.”

§ § §

An hour later, after a hair-raising ride in Gustavo’s Escalade, they turned onto a dirt road that ended at a small airport. The first thing Michael saw was a Lear jet. The doors were opened and the pilot was in the cockpit. Shit, shit, shit!

In the backseat, next to Jason, there was little he could do to help, not with his hands shackled behind his back.

Hanging onto his consciousness, Jason murmured things in that state, making little sense. Up close, he looked even more alarming, his face swollen, bloodied, and bruised. Michael had done his best to push close to him, to say reassuring things, to make an attempt to get through, but didn’t think he was having any effect. Add to that the fact that Gustavo kept adding in his two cents and the whole thing was nothing but a fucking nightmare. What chance would Jason have if they managed to take them somewhere and continue to work him over? So far, he hadn’t been seriously hurt, but that? By necessity, it’d change, things would get uglier.

“Okay,” Gustavo said, turning off the SUV’s engine and getting out of the car. “Sam? Get Jason inside. We need to be in the air ASAP.”

“Yes, sir.” The thug who’d been riding shotgun jumped out of the car, yanking open the door, and pulling Jason out.

“What’re you doing? He’s not even conscious!”

“He’s conscious enough,” the guy growled and half led/half carried Jason toward the jet.

Something caught Michael’s attention out of the corner of his eye. Dust. Dust being thrown up on the dirt road that led into this airport. Dust being thrown up by a line of black SUVs.

The FBI. Fuck!

Outside the car, panic kicked into high gear. “Get inside, now! Now! No, forget him! Get inside!” Gustavo was screaming as he waved his hands like the idiot he was.

Barely able to comprehend what was happening, Michael watched as the jet’s doors closed, as it began a slow roll down the runway, as the black SUVs gave chase. _Oh, fuck, fuck,_ he thought, the tears in his eyes. _Jason! They had Jason._

But it was too late.

Jason was gone.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Twenty-Five**

“She died peacefully,” Michael said to Nicky as they both drank their second cup of coffee that morning. “Her eyes closed and …” He shrugged, the pain evident on his face. “… she was gone.”

In the small kitchen/dining area of her apartment—no, her and _Jason’s_ apartment—they were doing their best to not lose their minds as they waited for news about Jason. It’d been three agonizing days—three fucking days—since Gustavo’s Nazi thugs had dragged Jason onto that plane and managed to escape the FBI. Three long, long, horrifically long days without knowing if Jason was alive or, well, not alive. Three days when neither one of them had gotten much sleep, when tears had been shed, when they’d veered from optimism to sheer terror and back again.

Michael had turned up the day it happened, the look on his face telling Nicky everything she needed to know. He’d been dirty, disheveled, and angry, but he showed up to tell her what happened. And that? “Jason was a fucking hero.” That had been his words to her, words he said with tears in his eyes and pride in his voice. He’d saved their lives, Michael was certain, and he’d thwarted Gustavo at every turn. Along with tremendous fear and lots of anger, he’d made that one fact clear.

The following morning, he was there again, bringing coffee, bagels, donuts, an assortment of breakfast items because he wasn’t sure what she’d like. The dark circles had gotten darker, but he’d showered, shaved, and had on clean clothes, making a statement. She’d done the same. No one was mourning Jason’s lost unless they were forced to. Nicky knew, also, why he showed up: he wanted to be with someone who loved Jason as much as he did. That had been number one in importance for both of them. So they hung together, they encouraged on another, they remained as optimistic as possible.

Michael often took phone calls. After all, he was running a multi-million-dollar company, not to mention an enormous family business. He felt comfortable doing it there, with her, because she had a cell phone too as well as a landline. No call would be missed and they both knew it.

Being thrown together like that meant they’d had lots of time to talk. Nicky had heard about Michael and Jason’s outings, about their funny moments together, about the love that Michael now realized had been “as real as Jason is real.” He’d spent a lot of time working through the anger he’d felt when Jason’s true identity had been revealed, an anger that had been burned up by the events of the last few days. Nicky heard that story, too, and, yes, the tears fell when she found out how Jason had suffered. Now, no doubts remained, no anger would ever turn Michael away from Jason again. And Michael? Well, he’d learned how much Nicky loved Jason, how they cooked together and laughed as they shopped for the food they’d need, how much they enjoyed each other’s company, talking, giggling, sometimes watching TV or taking a long walk. In their discussions, they even broached the delicate subject of Jason, Nicky, and any attraction between them, which had made Nicky laugh. Yes, she’d told him, she wished she could rewind the last two years and take their initial friendship in a different direction, but now? Jason loved Michael and that, she told him, was obvious to anyone who had a beating heart. That had brought tears to Michael’s eyes, which had been happening a lot.

“You … did you realize you were gay when you married Melissa?” Nicky asked as she stirred her coffee, following up on what he’d told her about his wife’s death. He been married to Melissa for twenty-one years.

“Yes, I did realize I was gay, but the times being the way they were …” Michael blew out air, looking up as if he’d find answers there. “I did love her and we had a satisfying life … in all ways a married couple should. However, I knew what was missing. I thought, given my age, that I’d never find that, never have a real romantic relationship with a wonderful man the way I’d had with Melissa. It seemed like there were way too many obstacles including the high profile of my family.” Michael dropped his gaze, hiding the pain in his eyes. “And then Jason came along.”

Nicky slid her hand across the table and covered Michael’s. She opened her mouth to give him another reassurance, one of many, just as he’d reassured her.

Then his cell phone rang. Checking the display, he shot her a look. “It’s Jim.”

Nicky sat up straighter, which she always did when the FBI director called.

“Hi, Jim,” Michael said as his face grew pale. “You did?” He looked over at her. “Okay, yes. Sure. Mount Sinai Hospital? Yes, we’re ready. Five minutes? Thank you, Jim.” He clicked off the call, reaching across the table for her hand, squeezing it hard. “They found him.” His tone was measured, his expression rigid with the control he was exerting

Nicky clasped his hand tight. “Is he okay?”

“Injured, Jim said. Uh, he was treated at the scene and is now almost at the hospital, which isn’t far from here.” He seemed unaware of how tightly she’d grasped his hand. “A car will take us over there. You better get, uh, your coat.”

“Okay.” She got up, found her coat on the couch, and grabbed her purse. Michael came to help her with the coat, but after she’d put it on, they stared at one another. “Injured?” she whispered, then moved close as he took her into his arms.

Michael’s embrace was tight enough to tell her he was worried too. “He’s strong and resilient, Nicky. You know that. Look at all he’s come through.” His voice, thought, shook as he said the words.

She made herself step back to meet his gaze and forced her own tight composure. “You’re right. Let’s go welcome him back to his family.”

§ § §

At the hospital, one of Jim’s agents, John Cromwell, was waiting in the emergency room to take them to the third floor so they could speak with the hospital’s director. As they got into the elevator, Michael grilled the man with a relentless efficiency. That’s when they learned that Jason had been here for at least an hour, maybe longer. Nicky could tell that Michael was angry about that, but the agent told him that they didn’t want to make the call to them without a better understanding of Jason’s status. “What does that mean?” Michael spit out as they stepped off the elevator.

Cromwell, stopped to face Michael. “I’m sorry, sir, but … well, he … Jason was pretty messed up when he came in here. The paramedics worked on him in the field, but since it wasn’t that far from here, they made the decision—with the attending’s permission—to bring him here as quickly as possible.” He paused to gauge their expressions. “As far as I know, he’s alive. Dr. Connors will have a lot more information, sir.”

With a curt nod, Michael took Nicky’s hand and followed the man down the hall. His hand, she noted, was ice cold.

Jim was standing in the middle of the director’s office, a tall African American in a nice suit next to him. “Michael—” Jim began, walking toward him.

“How is Jason?” Michael said in a brusque tone, looking from one to the other, using the voice of a man accustomed to making demands. “Please quit the bullshit. We’re going crazy here.”

Jim nodded. “This is Dr. Theodore Connors, the head of the hospital.”

Connors stepped up to offer his hand. “Mr. Catalano? I’m so sorry about your friend.” As they shook, he gave Nicky a nod, then turned back to Michael. “He’s alive and the best emergency room doctor on the east coast is now his primary care physician.”

“How seriously is he hurt?”

“From what we’ve been able to determine, it’s serious, but treatable. Nothing, of course, at this point is set in stone, because he is still being assessed, but Mr. Bourne overall appears to be in a good position to handle such injuries. He’s young, fit, and his medical files indicate that he’s weathered previous traumatic injuries. Uh, we’re waiting on Dr. Abbott, who’s been treating him since he arrived. From what I understand, the people who held him tortured him in hopes of obtaining certain information. I won’t lie to you: in doing so, they did a lot of damage.”

Nicky drew in a sharp breath, biting down on her lip as tears filled her eyes.

“Damage like what?” Michael snapped and Nicky knew he was losing his patience.

The door opened and a tall, redheaded woman in a lab coat walked in. She zeroed in on Michael right away. “Mr. Catalano? I’m Dr. Abbott.”

He took the hand she offered. “Doctor? How is Jason?”

“As we speak, he’s being admitted to the ICU where a team of medical professionals will be treating him.” She shook her head. “Those bastards did a number on him, but so far, we haven’t seen any injury that appears to be life threatening or requires surgery. He’s severely bruised, with numerous contusions and lacerations to his face and body. He has a broken tooth, broken ribs, which punctured his lung, four broken fingers, a gunshot wound to the left shoulder—which happened earlier—and a fractured patella.”

Nicky realized she was clutching Michael’s arm. “Patella?”

The doctor nodded. “It what people like to call the kneecap. Fortunately, it isn’t shattered. If it was, we’d have to operate, but instead, he’ll wear a cast for a while until it mends and will need to be off his feet.” 

“Broken fingers?” Michael whispered in a shaky voice, his tone darkening.

“Yes. From his attackers, I assume.” She stepped closer, hand on Michael’s arm, looking from him to Nicky and back. “I won’t lie to you. He’s a mess. Those assholes, whoever they were, worked him over good. For the next few days, he’ll be in the ICU so that we can monitor him while he’s given time to rest and to begin the healing process. He’ll be heavily medicated, he’ll have a tube in his chest to help with the lung puncture, his hand will be in a small cast, then later, in a splint and, of course, he’ll also have a cast on his leg.” She smiled. “That’s being done right now.”

“What—what about his arm? He had a broken arm,” Nicky managed to ask.

“His arm is fine. We x-rayed it just to be sure, but the pin the Paris doctor put in appears to have held.

“Thank God,” Michael murmured.

“Is he conscious?” Nicky wanted to know.

“No. He’s opened his eyes once or twice, but I think the whole experience has pretty much wiped him out. I did reassure him that his friends were close by and that all was well.”

Nicky gripped Michael harder, struggling not to cry. “Can we see him?”

“He’s not yet in the ICU. I’ll let you spend a few minutes with him when we get him settled, but we have strict rules. I will, however, do all I can to give you time to see him when he regains consciousness because he needs encouragement.” She patted Nicky’s shoulder. “There’s a small room outside the ICU, which you’ll use while you wait. That’ll make it easy for us to find you.”

“Perfect, thank you,” Nicky said, although she couldn’t stop shaking.

Dr. Abbott stepped close enough to slip an arm around Nicky’s shoulders, giving her a hug. “I think he’s a fighter, isn’t he?”

“Jason?” Michael replied. “God, yes. You have no idea.”

Nicky nodded, straightening out at the thought of Jason’s courage. “Yes, he is … and has been for many years.”

The doctor squeezed her shoulders. “Then remind him of that.” She looked at Michael. “Along with letting him know you’ll be with him every step of the way.”

§ § §

The small room where Michael and Nicky waited turned out to be an area with a couch, chair, lamps, trashcans, even some reading material, although who in their right mind could read? Since there was also a larger ICU-specific waiting room down the hall, Michael could only assume the FBI had asked for this. Given how they’d just taken down the temporary head of Infernum, the stealth organization’s murderous reputation had to be a concern. Everyone believed they’d killed his dad and, shit, Dad had been a fan of the organization.

Michael sat with Nicky and both of them said nothing for about twenty minutes. They were stunned and afraid for Jason, but, yes, also relieved. He was alive, here, being treated by the best doctors in the business. Still …

“I don’t know if I’m more scared now than I was before, or less scared.”

He managed a smile in her direction. “I know what you mean, but let’s push for the less-scared side. After all, he’s alive. Maybe not in great shape, but Dr. Abbott seemed to be leaning in a positive direction.”

Nicky looked surprised. “Really? After going through that horrible list of injuries Jason has. God, that was awful!”

“It was and I’m not making light of that or anything else, I just noticed she didn’t drop in a caveat the way doctors do. You know, like ‘he has extensive internal injuries that are a concern,’ that sort of thing. She balanced that list of injuries with the idea that Jason was young and strong. I mean, let’s face it, if I’d been beaten that badly, I’m not sure I’d survive. Jason, however, has a much better chance.”

“Jason is tough, that’s true. He’s had to be to survive so long.”

Michael winced. “I’m hoping I’ll have the chance to reverse that fortune for him, to make his next forty, fifty, sixty years as wonderful as the first thirty were bad.”

She touched his arm, squeezing. “I’m sure you will.”

After that, they did what they could to wait without losing their minds: checking their phones, reading magazines, talking about their lives, abut Jason, about anything that’d pass the time. Michael went down the hall to make business calls several times, leaving Nicky to alert him if things changed. Nicky slept fitfully. Michael couldn’t.

Then door opened, but it wasn’t the ICU nurse, it was Jim. “How’re you guys doing?” he said, handing them cups of hot coffee.

“Thank you, Jim. We’re anxious as hell, but doing our best to stay positive.” Michael removed the coffee’s lid, inhaling the strong aroma. 

Jim sat down on a chair across from the couch, hands clasped as he looked from Nicky to Michael. “I thought you’d appreciate hearing how we found Jason.”

Michael had wondered about that. 

“We got a good tip,” he said as he sat, hands loose in his lap. He looked tired … as tired as they were, which was no doubt true. “Uh, it was Lakshmi. She called the tip line and told us where they were keeping Jason.”

“Jason had a feeling she might be feeding him information,” Michael said, remember with anguish that he’d refused to believe him. 

“Yes, she appeared to be sympathetic to him and I guess when they started beating on him, she couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Thank God,” Nicky murmured. “Was she arrested?”

“No. We haven’t been able to find her, but, really, at this point she’s not a major focus. We’re more anxious to recover the Ledger. Jason realized that it will give us years of information on what those demented extremists have been up to.”

So Jason hadn’t told them where it was. God, he was amazing! Michael wasn’t at all sure he would’ve been able to hold out that long. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but right then a nurse appeared to tell them they could visit Jason.

Jim smiled as they stood up. “Tell him I said ‘Job well done,’” he told them as they followed her through the open door.

Michael nodded. “Will do,” he said, but right now? He was scared to death. More scared than he’d been back when … Dad, Melissa, all of it. 

Every last bit.


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Twenty-Six**

Voices. Indistinct, muted. Eyes closed, they swirled around him like multi-colored spirits with something important to say. But what? Jason strained to hear, but … deaf, he was deaf to the words. Deaf and blind and, yes, paralyzed. Held down in a way he couldn’t comprehend.

It went on for a long time, though he didn’t know if it was minutes, hours, days. Too long. Gradually, though, he began to hear actual words, people talking, saying things that made little sense. With that, he realized that pain ghosted him, muted, but still there, hiding beneath the surface. He’d been restrained in some unknown way, his arms, legs, every part of him kept under control. Shackled.

At that thought, Jason’s heart beat faster. Fuck! What fresh hell was this? Something had happened and somehow he’d ended up … where? Where was this? Who’d brought him here? How’d it happen? Machines began to beep, which made the voices rise, tense and strident. Footsteps. People issuing commands. Oh, God, where was he? Training center? Ops site? Gustavo’s basement? Why in hell couldn’t they kill him and be done with it?

“Jason?” A woman, next to him, her voice soft. “Can you open your eyes?”

It hurt to breathe, each breath another reminder that something wasn’t right. What was going on that he’d—?

A soft hand touched his arm. “Jason? I’m Dr. Abbott. You’re at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York City, in the Intensive Care Unit. And you’re safe. Can you open your eyes?”

On his third attempt, Jason saw the doctor, blurry, but real. Red hair, white coat, blouse with blue flowers on it. Relief surged through him. 

She smiled, patting his hand. “Do you remember what happened?”

He licked his lips, blinking, his brain barely functioning. A tiny memory surfaced. “FBI?” he managed to say.

She picked up a cup, scooping something with a spoon. “Here. Ice chips. Might help that dry throat.”

He swallowed the wonderful coolness, so she offered another scoop. “They … busted in,” he said as the memories came flooding back. “Saved … me?” That’s when the ugly memories hit: tied to a chair so tight his wrists bled, the asset who broke his fingers one-by-one, the blow that split his tooth. He raised his left arm to stare at the cast. “ICU?” he asked as it registered. “Because I’m so … fucked up.”

She gave him a third scoop of chips, then used her stethoscope to check his heart. “You had a lot of injuries, so, yes, this is the best place for you … at least for a few days.” She shone a light in his eyes, checked the tube in his chest, did a couple of things. “Uh, the FBI would love to talk to you, but that will have to wait. However, your two friends have been here a long time because they wanted to be around when you woke up.”

As she checked the IVs, he processed her words. Friends? “Michael and Nicky?”

She’d finished her inspection. “Okay, you’re doing fine. Yes, Michael and Nicky. They’re outside. Abby?” she said and Jason realized another woman was at the foot of the bed. “Can you get them?”

“Sure.”

As Abby turned away, the doctor focused on him. “You have a lot of injuries, Jason, but nothing life threatening. We’ll keep you comfortable for the next few days until your pain level drops, so your job? Relax, follow instructions, and ask for help when you need it. We’re here to get you stabilized. It won’t happen overnight, but it _will_ happen.”

A set of double doors swung open and the nurse—Abby—appeared, Michael and Nicky following her. Jason tried to follow the doctor’s orders and relax, but it wasn’t easy. Michael, especially, brought back the whole miserable thing. 

Dr. Abbott turned, smiling at them. “You can have fifteen minutes. He’s still groggy and weak, but I think you two are going to be beneficial to his recovery.”

Jason wanted to smile, to hug both of them, to tell them how much he loved them and don’t worry, he was fine, but at the moment, every movement was an effort. “Hi,” he managed to whisper.

Tears in his eyes, Michael bent to kiss one side of his forehead. “I love you so much,” he whispered as he stepped back and let Nicky kiss him too.

Tears washed down her face as she did. “You have to get better soon, Jason,” she said as she tried to stifle her sobs. “Otherwise, Michael is going to continue talking about you and what a wonderful guy you are, day and night!” She choked on another sob. “We love you, okay? You’re a fucking hero. And we’re with you in this. We’ll help all we can and these doctors, this hospital? They’re the _best_.”

The emotion covered him like a warm blanket. Not in this by himself? Good, right? In the past, that hadn’t been the way it worked. Now, with everything that’d happened, he’d be fucked if it was him alone. “I need help,” he said to both of them, just to be sure that were clear. “I don’t … know what to do.”

Michael slipped his hand around Jason’s good hand. “Right now, you heal, okay? That’s your job. Do what the doctor tells you. Meanwhile, we’ll do our best to entertain you.”

“Right now?”

Michael chuckled. “Well, I’m not going to dance for you or even tell a joke, because I wouldn’t want to make you laugh … not at the moment.”

That made him smile. Then he had a thought. “They … FBI got Gustavo? All of them?”

Michael nodded.

Jason closed his eyes, trembling, whether from rage or fear he didn’t know. “Good.”

§ § §

Back in their small space, after their fifteen minutes were up, Nicky sat with Michael. Jason’s alertness had begun to fade after only a few minutes and they knew he needed to rest, so they kissed him again and left the ICU. Now Nicky was doing her best to take care of _Michael,_ who began to shake once they were back here. He’d hidden his face as he did, probably embarrassed the way a man his age might be and sobbed in a way that broke her heart. She put a hand on his shoulder, but didn’t say anything because what was there to say? Jason looked horrible. Scary as hell and, yes, it was obvious that hell was what he’d been through. Much of his face was bruised and/or bandaged, plus he had two casts and even more bandages, more bruises, not to mention IV lines, wires and tubes everywhere. Heartbreaking, that’s what it’d been, fucking heartbreaking. She wanted to cry too, but—

“I’m sorry,” Michael whispered after a good ten minutes of this.

She handed him more tissues. “For what? Grief? Come on, Michael. That’s the man you love and right now? He’s a mess. You have every right to be upset.”

“You seem to be all right.”

“I cried all over him, remember? And I’m sure I’ll cry again.” She sucked in a lungful of air. “This isn’t easy, no. It’s fucking hard and, God, it hurts, it hurts so much. But we’ll get through it.”

He raised his head, his eyes red, his face set in mournful lines. “The difference is, you always believed him. You supported him.”

She knew that would hit him hard, so it wasn’t a surprise. “So you hit a speed bump. Did he seem offended when you kissed him? I don’t think so.” She patted his cheek. “He loves you, Michael. More than he’s ever loved anyone outside of his family. He told me that so many times and the fact that you’re here, waiting for him. That has to mean the world to him.” 

Blinking, Michael stared at her and she saw the change of expression. “Nicky? Jim told me they’d need us here in the States for at least a couple of months. I’m not sure how long it’ll take Jason to recover, but I’d like him to be treated by the same doctor. Plus, he’ll probably have lots of other doctor appointments, physical therapy—”

“Dental appointments,” she added.

“Yes. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about the best way to help him and I feel like it’d be helpful if we were both living where he’s living.”

That took her by surprised. “You think we should be roommates?”

“Yes. I … actually, I had one of my people dig up the name of a good New York realtor and she’s already come up with a couple of possible places.”

Nicky kept underestimating the next direction this whole crazy thing would take. “Places like what?”

She could see that Michael was on more familiar ground. Directing a project that’d help Jason checked a lot of boxes. “Large apartments not too far from Jason’s doctors.”

“So in Manhattan?”

“Yes. Three bedrooms, kitchen, dining room, living area. I, uh, like the idea of a penthouse suite because of the security factor.”

Nicky also kept forgetting that Michael was a billionaire. “You mean, it’d have a private elevator?”

“Yes.” He paused to gauge her response. “Is that something you’d be comfortable with? I know how close you and Jason are, so I’d prefer that you’re in the same living space, especially in the early days when he’s discharged from the hospital.”

She knew it was futile, but … “Michael, that’s very generous, but I don’t have the money to—”

He touched her arm. “Please …” His eyes welled with tears. “You saved Jason’s life. He’d be long dead and buried if you hadn’t taken the steps you took.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know he would’ve killed me and I know that given my high profile, the authorities would’ve gone after him with guns blazing.”

Nicky drew in a sharp breath. “And he would’ve remained in that fugue state after it was done because no one would’ve been there to snap him out of it.”

“Correct.”

Nicky looked down at her clasped hands, then back up to Michael. “I’d love to do something like that, Michael. Thank you for thinking of it.”

“Great! Let me talk to Wendel—the realtor—and see if she can’t make a few appointments for us. We can hopefully be set up before he’s discharged.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but right then Jim came through the door. “How’re you guys doing?” he said as he sat down across from them.

“Thank you, Jim. We’re exhausted and emotional,” Nicky said as she ran a hand through her hair and gathered up some of the used tissues, dropping them into the wastebasket. She realized that Jim didn’t look much better. “You don’t look so great either.” When he’d been here earlier, she hadn’t even noticed, but then, she was pretty freaked out.

Jim gave her a wry smile. “Yeah, lots of long nights.” He pulled an envelope out of his breast pocket. “This will help. One of the ICU nurses called and said that before he lost consciousness, Jason dictated this to her.”

Nicky looked puzzled, but Michael got it immediately. “The location of the Ledger!”

“Yes.”

“Where was it?”

For a dramatic moment, Jim said nothing, staring at them as if he was deciding something. “Uh, I’ll tell you, but it goes without saying that you keep it to yourselves.” He gave them a gentle smile. “I mean, obviously we have the Ledger under lock and key, safe and secure, but even the details as to where it was found will become part of the narrative, so it needs to be confidential.”

“Absolutely,” Michael said with a nod, one that Nicky echoed.

“The garage in that house? It had pipes like most homes do? There was one attached to the hot water heater.”

“Ah,” Michael said, wondering how in the world Jason figured that out so quickly. “There wasn’t any hot water in the place.”

“Correct. He was able to gain access to that pipe. Then he tore chunks out of the Ledger, rolled them up, and slid them into the pipe until he’d emptied the whole thing.”

Michael shook his head. “And those thugs never thought to check the pipes.”

“They didn’t, obviously.” He looked from one to the other. “This will break the case wide open. That Ledger contains details that go back many years, details that’ll give us the ability to nail Infernum once and for all. I hope you’re prepared to stick around for a while, because your testimony is going to be crucial.”

“You want to dismantle Infernum,” Michael said and it wasn’t a question.

“I do. And I’d also like to take down that CIA black ops group.”

“I would love it if you did that,” Michael said just before Nicky.

“Me too!” Nicky added. “Uh, have we heard anything more about Conklin?”

“He’s still recovering. I’d like to get him indicted soon if at all possible.”

“That’d be great. It’d help Jason’s recovery.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Then, with a weary smile, Jim was gone.

§ § §

The next time Nicky got to see Jason the sun had just come up. She was curled under a blanket that Irene, one of the ICU nurses, had given her, warding off the cold as she tried to sleep. Michael had been forced to go handle a few things that couldn’t wait, so she was alone. Ten minutes later, Shari, another ICU nurse, came to ask if she’d be available to visit Jason. He was awake and a bit agitated, so they thought a friend might help.

In the ICU, the first thing she saw was Irene, next to Jason’s bed, taking his blood pressure. She looked up when Nicky came into view, motioning her to the other side. Nicky sat down as Jason opened his eyes. “Hi,” she said as she took his hand.

“Bad dream,” he told her in a hoarse whisper. 

She took the ice chips Irene handed her and scooped up a spoonful, feeding them to him. “That’s why I’m here,” she said, her tone light, but sympathetic. She gave him another scoop, then set the cup aside and took his hand again, giving it a squeeze. “Want to tell me about it?”

He avoided her gaze. “Just the same old shit. It’s not important.”

“Jason, I don’t agree. I know how horrible the flashback episodes have been and so do thousands and thousands of veterans. It’s important.” She raised his hand to kiss it. “You have more than enough reasons to have PTSD, but we’re going to do our best to help, Michael and me.”

“Thanks,” he said, but, yes, she could tell he was depressed. Who could blame him?

She watched as Irene injected a drug into the IV line, hoping it was something that would soothe him.

“Where’s Michael?” he asked, his grip on her hand tight.

“He had a few things to do, but he’ll be back soon.” She thought about what Michael had told her. “Guess what? We’re looking for an apartment where the three of us can live.”

That got his attention. “Really?”

“Yes! Isn’t that cool? Michael insists on it. That way, we’ll both be able to help with your care until you get back on your feet.”

“What kind of place is he looking at?” Jason asked and she knew she’d managed to make him forget the flashback episode.

“That’s the cool thing.” She widened her eyes. “He wants a penthouse.”

“Easier to guard.”

“Exactly. Wouldn’t that be cool? We’d have our very own elevator and maybe a rooftop terrace too.”

Jason appeared to relax, eyes half-closing as he considered Nicky’s words. “That would be … nice. I’d like to be with both of you.”

“Well, you will be. Michael is looking for the right space. A realtor is helping him. And once you’re up to it, you could even go back to work. It looks like we’ll be in New York for a couple of months at least.”

“Because of me?”

“In part, but also the investigation. Lots to process.”

“Do you know if Jim got my message?”

“About the Ledger? Yes.”

Jason closed his eyes. “Good.”

She watched him, happy to see that the medication had relaxed him. With a smile, Irene had gone back to the nurse’s station, leaving them alone. 

After a few minutes, Jason stirred. “Nicky? Do you like Michael?”

“I do. Since all of this happened, he and I have had a lot of time together and, well, I know now that he’s a great guy. Once he realized he’d been wrong about you he felt horrible.” She patted his hand. “It’s obvious that he loves you very much.”

A big smile lit up Jason’s face. “Really? You think that?”

“Absolutely. And now that I’ve gotten to know him better, I can see why. He’s not only an interesting man, but principled and compassionate. I think the reaction he had to finding out the truth about you … that made sense. It was a huge shock. Now, though, once he saw how you were prepared to die in order to protect him as well as those files, well, I think he saw the real you.”

Jason rolled his eyes.

Nicky shook a playful finger at him. “No false modesty, young man. You’d be the first person to say that Michael is amazing, right? So why wouldn’t he feel the same way about you?”

Jason stared at her for a moment, then closed his eyes. She wasn’t sure if he was drifting off to sleep or what, but a few minutes later, he opened his eyes to look at her again. “I-I still love him, Nicky.”

“He loves you. That’s what he keeps telling me.”

“I don’t want to be a drag on him.”

“You’ll get better. You’re still young, you’ll heal, you’ll—”

“That’s the physical part. The mental—”

“Jason, this is your first day in ICU. How about we concentrate on that and not worry about what probably won’t happen two weeks or two months from now?”

That stopped him. He tried to take a deep breath and winced. “What would I do without you?” he said finally. “Of course, you’re right.”

“It’ll get better every day, I’m sure. And if it doesn’t, well, guess what? We’ll deal with it.” She reached over to stroke his forehead, taking care to avoid a bandaged area. “How about we talk about what meals you’ll want me or Michael to cook for you? Since we’re in New York, I’m guessing groceries will be no problem.”

That produced a faint smile. “Okay, that’s a good idea. If I fall asleep, though—”

“I will not be offended.” She kissed his hand again. “And I promise we’ll make each and every meal you want. It’ll be fun!”


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

As Brad and Makayla watched, Jason threw back the covers on his bed, then moved with great care, keeping his injured hand and knee raised so they didn’t get dinged. Once he was sitting on the bed’s edge, he eased down and stood, bearing his weight on his good leg while he used his good hand to steady himself. Laser focused on what he was doing, he lowered himself into the amazing power wheelchair Michael had provided, seating himself before he raised the leg support for his knee. Then he grabbed the IV bag he was still attached to and hung it on the hook provided, pushing down the foot rest for his right foot. After that, he released the wheelchair’s lock, powered it up and turned to face the two PTs. “What did I miss?”

Brad looked at Makayla, who was never short on words. “You did great, Jason. We’re impressed.” She crossed her arms, thinking. “My only word of caution would be to take it a bit slower. This isn’t a race. You’re still on some medications that might slow down your reaction time.” She gave him a gentle smile. “Don’t think you need any new bruises.”

“Good point,” Brad threw in. “We’re making great progress with you, so don’t feel as if you have to jump in that chair and zoom off like Superman.”

Jason grinned. “Whatever you guys say,” he told them. “You’re the bosses.” After a five-day stay, he’d been out of the ICU for the past forty-eight hours. These guys had turned up a few hours after he’d settled in this private room, assigned to help him navigate his new reality, the one that involved a broken kneecap and four broken fingers. He couldn’t put any weight on that leg and the four broken fingers meant the same caution for the hand, which ruled out crutches, at least for now. The two PTs brought Michael’s amazing gift with them: a brand-new “Jazzy Elite” wheelchair he’d delivered to PT, asking that they use it rather than the standard, non-electric wheelchair. Jokes about his “sugar daddy” had followed, which didn’t bother Jason at all. “So I’m cleared to wander around and annoy people?” 

“Yes, but keep it to under an hour,” Brad said, a bit sober. “You haven’t been out of ICU that long. I know you’re feeling kind of high and want your independence back, but if you push it, you could have a relapse.”

Since he was hoping to be released from the hospital in a few days, he nodded his understanding. “Got it.”

After they left, he went into the bathroom, which was large enough to handle the wheelchair. Michael, again. Jason shook his head, catching his wrecked reflection in the mirror as he maneuvered onto the toilet seat to take a leak. This upscale hospital room was used by high-level folks: celebrities, politicians, and the like. Certainly not him, but Michael? Yep, that’s what _he_ was and he was throwing his weight around to get the best for Jason. It made him kind of teary eyed, but these days, that wasn’t unusual. Injuries galore + bad dreams + drugs = _him._

Standing up, he balanced on one leg while he washed his hand, examining his face. He still looked like seven miles of bad road, but at least someone seeing him for the first time might believe he was more alive than dead. A few bruises were fading and, thankfully, the tube in his chest was gone. The ribs were still a problem and the lung puncture meant he had to sleep sitting up, but it was better than it’d been before. Except, of course, for the dreams, the flashbacks, that whole fucking thing.

Easing back into the chair, Jason spun it around and headed out of the room, smiling at the agent on guard duty, who joined him a few paces back. Also part of his new life. According to Michael, Nicky, and his doctors, he had a lot of doctor visits once he got out of here. One of them would be the shrink he’d spoken with yesterday, Dr. Peña, a guy who specialized in PTSD, except Peña hadn’t been hired by the CIA, thank God. He’d liked the guy, who’d been easy going and low key. It seemed very Deja vu, but, the only other choice was giving into that whole fucking mess and that? He couldn’t do it to Michael and Nicky. In a weird way, they were counting on him to make it across wherever the finish line might be, no matter how long it took. Dr. Peña? He’d be one of the coaches.

“Hi,” he said when he’d turned the corner and made it to the nurses’ station.

Grace leaned over the counter where she was working, arms folded as she checked him out. “Well, look at you, Jason. That’s a fancy chair. Looks like Mr. Catalano struck again.”

“Again?”

She motioned toward a huge bouquet of flowers. “We got this about an hour ago.”

The bouquet was large enough to count as _three_ flower arrangements. “Oh, wow. They’re beautiful.” 

Grace’s smile grew a tad wicked. “I believe you have about _seven_ of these in your room?”

He shook his head, faux frowning. “The truth is, I think maybe someone needs to take his credit card away.” Michael was due anytime now. He’d been under the weather yesterday, telling Jason he feared he was coming down with something and didn’t want to pass it to him. Nicky, though, said it was Michael collapsing after too many sleepless hours caring for Jason. He took a deep breath. Damn, talk about reversal of fortunes. All the animosity was a thing of the past. He had to admit that it was pretty fucking great.

Jason chatted with the nurses for a few minutes and then took off down the hall, mindful of his task. Once a patient was ambulatory, the PT folks would work to strengthen them and one way they did that was walking. Jason couldn’t put any weight on the leg, though, for at least five more weeks, nor could he use crutches thanks to the hand, which also would’ve made it hard, though not impossible, to use a manual wheelchair. His “walking,” then was getting used to the chair, getting in and out of it, making all the moves he’d need to get around once he was discharged. He’d gone over all of that with Brad and Makayla, who’d been delighted that he’d been in such good shape … minus all the trauma, of course. Now, he had to roll around, learn how to navigate corners and avoid hitting people, get in and out of his bed, toilets, and chairs, be able to wash up, shave, all that good stuff. In other words, he had to be adept enough to go home. 

As he was going around the vast area for a second time, the elevator doors rolled back and Michael stepped out. When his saw Jason, his expression changed as if the sun had come out from behind a cloud. “Oh, my God, look at you!” he said as he walked closer, a huge smile in place. He was carrying two good-sized bags as well as drinks in a cardboard container. As he tried to maneuver for a kiss, Jason laughed. 

“I can hold the drinks. Set them on my lap.”

With a nod, Michael handed over the drinks and then, setting down the packages, leaned over and kissed him on the mouth. “You look so good,” he murmured as he did.

“Thank you, but I saw what I look like and I don’t think I’ve reached ‘good’ yet. Maybe I’m no longer in the ‘half-dead’ category, though.” They smiled at one another, a look passing between them that confirmed the deep love they felt. Then Jason rolled down the hallway with Michael by his side, the ice in the drinks sloshing gently as he moved.

“I got potato-cheese soup that’ll be easy on your mouth, but make your stomach happy,” Michael was saying, “along with chicken-salad sandwiches. And for dessert …” As they passed by the nurses’ station, Michael stopped.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Catalano,” Grace said with a nod. “Thank you so much for the flowers. We’re enjoying them.”

“You’re welcome. Uh, would it be possible to store something in your freezer for about an hour?”

Grace was grinning. “I’m going to guess it’s ice cream. Jason? Let me know if Mr. Catalano has any available unmarried brothers!”

Jason smiled as Michael handed over a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Cherries Garcia to Grace. A moment later, they were in his room and Michael had retrieved the drinks, laying out their meal while Jason positioned his chair close to the small round table in the room’s eating area. “God that looks good,” he said as Michael slid a mug of the soup over, the cheesy aroma wafting up to entice him. He’d lost weight and not just because of the whole torture thing. Ever since he’d almost-murdered Michael, his appetite has been off. When they weighed him, he was fifteen pounds lighter than he should be, which hadn’t pleased anyone. Michael, he knew, had dedicated himself to changing that. Even at a normal weight, he’d always been kind of lean, so the huge lunch? That was its aim.

§ § §

As they ate, Michael watched Jason like an anxious father. Okay, yes, he _was_ a father, but not to this particular young man, although he felt many of those same feelings: protective of him, concerned about him, and, yes, love, overwhelming love. Jason needed to eat and today was the first day he’d been able to enjoy real food rather than what they served in the hospital. “How’s the tooth?” he asked as he scooped up more soup, which had been perfectly seasoned with a little parsley and a generous sprinkle of bacon crumbles.

“The temporary crown is holding,” Jason said, then raised his cup to sip the soup. “God, Michael, this is so good.”

“Don’t forget your sandwich.” 

Jason picked up one half of it and took a huge bite. “Before you’re finished, I’ll weigh two-hundred pounds.”

“Just more of you to love.”

“I’m holding you to that.” Jason pulled out one of packets of mustard and used a plastic knife to smear some on his sandwich. “And don’t expect any awesome ninja moves either.”

“I’m good with that. I’ve seen enough ninja moves to last a lifetime.” He reached for Jason’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Nicky and I spoke to Dr. Peña. Did she tell you?”

Jason’s hand closed around his. “She did. Told me she liked him.”

“Me too. He seems genuinely committed to helping people who are struggling with PTSD. The fact that he experienced it himself, gives him all kinds of credit in my book. And he has a great attitude.”

“I thought so too.”

A moment’s silence followed, one that stretched out too long. Michael wondered what Jason was thinking. Then he had a sudden thought. “Jason?” He tightened his grip on Jason’s hand. “Sweetheart? If this guy works out and you want to keep seeing him, if you think he’s helping you, that’s fine. We’ll stay in New York. Both of us can work remotely from here as long as we need to. Thanks to modern technology, it isn’t hard to do.” He pulled Jason’s hand up, kissing it with gentle care. “My number one objective is you, okay? Not the business, not my father’s legacy, not even my family. It’s you.” He leaned forward to clasp Jason’s good arm. “You understand?”

“I can’t keep taking advantage …”

“Jason?” He stopped him before he could go on. “You’re not taking advantage. What you’re doing is bringing me a-a joy I’ve rarely known and never with someone who finally felt like the right piece of the puzzle. You hear me? You aren’t taking advantage of anything, you’re doing the opposite.”

Jason’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t …” he began as the tears spilled over, “…understand how that’s possible.”

Dr. Peña told him that Jason was likely to display a volatile series of emotions as he struggled to make sense of all that had happened to him. Michael pushed his chair closer, taking Jason into a careful embrace. “You’ve lived so much of your life fighting to stay alive. Don’t you think it’s about time that changed?”

Jason gave his head a violent shake. “I don’t want to be—”

“Shh. You’re not taking advantage, you’re not a burden, you are a wonderful human being who means the world to me.”

“I can’t—”

“Do you trust me?” 

Jason paused to take several breaths. “Yes.”

“Then that’s what I’d like you to do right now. Okay? Can you do that?” Michael pulled back to look Jason in the eye, a slight smile on his lips. “The worst thing that can happen is that I buy something else for you.”

That brought a laugh. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would, I really would.” Michael found a tissue and blotted Jason’s face. “Give me a moment and I’ll prove it.”

Jason inhaled, the surprise mixed with gratitude. “The nurses are calling you my sugar daddy.”

“I gladly accept that role.”

Jason took another tissue and blew his nose. “Are you kidding?”

Michael reached down, retrieving one of his bags, pulling out the pajamas and robe he’d brought.

Jason’s mouth dropped open. 

“There’s also a pair of slippers in the bag. I had to guess about the size, but I think I got it.”

Then Jason laughed. “I only need one.”

“Good point, although you’ll look weird hopping around on one beautiful slipper with one bare foot.”

They smiled at one another, then Jason leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “I love you, Michael. I have for a long time, even when you didn’t love me back.”

Said with such innocence, the words were still like a kick in the head. “I was being a dick,” he said, throat tightening. “I’ll work the rest of my life to convince you that was wrong.”

“But you don’t need to buy me things.”

“I want to and I’m enjoying it. I love you too. I want you with me for the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.”

With that, Jason’s expression crumpled again. Moving closer, he pressed against Michael, crying with a renewed strength that surprised him. “Of course I want you! Of course! Why would you say that?”

For a long moment, as they hugged, the only sound was Jason’s labored gasps. He’d never had the luxury of giving vent to his feelings, had he? Death could be lurking around the corner so, no matter what he was feeling, he had to stuff it all inside and go on. Now? That was changing, although twice in ten minutes? It concerned Michael so much, that he began to murmur soothing words, trying to calm him down. “Hey,” he said finally when Jason tapered off a bit. “This isn’t fair. I’ve got more gifts to give.”

Jason pulled back, grabbing a napkin to wipe his face and blow his nose. “Oh, God, my ribs,” he said, hand on his chest. “Gifts? You’ve got to be kidding me. You are, right?”

He handed Jason his Coke, watching as he took a long sip. “Yes, gifts, but let’s get you steadied, otherwise the nurses are libel to ban me from the floor.”

“No, they won’t, they love you. You sent them a big box of cupcakes yesterday and flowers today.” He picked up the second half of his sandwich and took a bite. “They’re probably wondering what tomorrow will bring.”

Michael cocked his head. “I was thinking bagels with the works.”

Jason shook his head and rolled his eyes, still chewing on his sandwich. “You’re incorrigible.”

“But cute?”

“Handsome. The wheelchair will come in handy when people start flirting with you. I can ram them.”

“If anyone’s getting hit on, young man, it’s you.”

Jason twisted his expression into a skeptical frown. “Because there’s a huge market for bruised and crippled kinksters?” 

“That’s going to disappear so fast.” Michael reached into his second bag and pulled out the iPhone and iPad. “Now, how about we get you hooked up?”

Jason’s eyes got wide. “Michael!” he said as he stared at the tech. “You are out of control!”

“You need a phone, Jason.”

“And an iPad?” Fortunately, Jason was smiling. “Where’s my laptop? I need a new one, right? Especially if I’m going to go back to work. The one I was using was at least two years _old_. Can’t have that, can we?”

He shook a finger at Jason. “Once you’re back on your feet, I may have to impose some form of discipline for these egregious displays of greed.”

Jason widened his eyes. “Really?” he asked, his voice dropping with a glee he didn’t hide. “Like a spanking? Promise? Now there’s a kink I can get into!”

Then they were both laughing and Michael knew they’d emerged on the other side of that particular rollercoaster, still kicking.

Good. One day down, many more to go.

§ § §

Later, Jason had dinner in bed: hospital soup along with a second sandwich Michael left for him. Earlier, Dr. Adams had appeared to check him out, doing a pretty comprehensive exam. She’d given him the good news that things were progressing well. Both fractures were healing, his cuts, contusions, and bruises were all turning weird colors and a few smaller ones had even begun to fade. His lung puncture had been a small one and was also healing, along with his cracked ribs, although those would take a few weeks to be back to normal. The doctor was happy with his PT and even took time to admire his nifty power chair. They talked about Dr. Pena. When he told her about Nicky and Michael’s involvement, she liked that and talked to him about “someone in his situation” needing a group of people he could reply on to help not only with the physical, but the emotional and mental aspect. Jason had to wonder if she’d spoken to Michael, but decided not to ask. He wanted to be embarrassed that a CIA operative could behave like a three-year-old with a skinned knee, but … no.

So … doing good? From where he sat, it was hard to say. He was still stuck in bed unless his chair was nearby, and the two fractures limited him in ways he’d never been limited before. A learning experience? That’s what his grandmother would’ve called it. Sometimes it felt like a detour into an alien world, especially this afternoon when he’d dissolved into an embarrassing puddle of tears in front of Michael. Damn, he wasn’t ten! He needed to get a grip, but from everything that’d happened so far, it seemed apparent that wasn’t happening anytime soon. The shit in the basement with Gustavo’s men doing their best to make him talk: smacking, punching, breaking his fingers one-by-one? That was the _third_ time he’d been tortured. Shit. He was an ordinary kid from Nixa, Missouri. His mom had been a teacher, his dad a decorated war veteran. What the hell rabbit hole had he gone down that he’d ended up with that kind of statistic at age thirty-three? Fuck that, he'd earned every single one of those tears. 

Just in time, the iPad lit up with an invitation from Skype. Jason pulled it closer, knowing it could only be a couple of people. Earlier, Michael had helped him set up both accounts—iPhone and iPad—after they’d devoured the ice cream. Then he saw the name of the person calling and clicked his acceptance. “Hi!” he said when Nicky’s smiling face appeared.

“Michael said you got this all set up!” she said, sounding excited. “You’re back in the tech world, Jason!”

“I am. Thanks to Michael, I’m a lot of things.” He displayed the silk robe over his shoulders, which was a deep blue that felt great against his skin, although the IV in his lower arm meant he couldn’t quite wear it yet. “Did he tell you? He spent the day showering me with gifts.”

“Ahh,” Nicky said, smiling. “I hope you didn’t give him a hard time about that. He feels bad about how he treated you and how you responded.”

Jason lay back against the pillows. “Well, I’m not sure if I reassured him, because I had a couple of meltdowns.”

She gave him a concerned look. “You need to think of him like a kid in a candy shop. He thought he’d lost you, then you landed, so to speak, in his lap, injured and in need of help. The guy he loves and did love all along. So he’s using his money to help you … us, actually, because he’s offered to pay my tuition if I want to enroll in an Intelligence Analyst program at one of the local universities, most which I can do online.”

“I think we’re being adopted.”

“It does seem that way. So what am I? You and Michael are a couple and I’m …”

“… his future sister-in-law?”

She yelped. “Oh, my God, you think he wants to marry you?”

“After everything that’s happened, I certainly hope so!” They both laughed, then Jason stopped, wincing. “Damn, the ribs are killing me.”

“No nighttime meds?”

“Yeah, but it’s still too early.”

“Well, could I distract you for a few moments, maybe?”

He saw how happy she was and had to smile. “Always for you. Did Michael show you the penthouse?” he asked, guessing that had something to do with her excitement.

“God, yes. Jason, it’s beautiful. Very modern and _huge_. He wanted something that would make it easy for you to get around. It’s already furnished, but you should be able to maneuver without any trouble.”

“It sounds nice.”

“I’ll send you the pictures I took.” She grinned at him. “I mean, is this a fairytale? Ever since Graeme walked into my office, I feel like maybe I’m dreaming.”

“Some of it must’ve been a nightmare, even for you.”

“True.”

“Did they ever find Graeme?”

“Jim told me they’re still looking. Treadstone is … well, it’s no more. Ward is dead and Conklin will be arrested once he’s out of that Italian hospital. The whole thing is a huge scandal in Langley, but they’ve somehow managed to keep it quiet.”

“I hope it stays that way.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They continued to talk, gossiping, discussing dinners they’d like to prepare, how they missed Paris, all the great times they’d had right up until the moment when Nicky told Jason he needed to go to sleep.

“Why?” he said, although he had the immediate sense his eyes had been closed.

“Because you’re tired. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I’m bringing lunch and it’s homemade.”

“Can’t wait.”

“Get your meds and then sleep well, okay? Love you.”

“Love you too.” Then the connection ended and Jason was left with a smile on his face. Damn, he had good friends, didn’t he? Two of the best, that’s for sure. And soon? He’d get out of this place.

Life was … good?


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

As they pulled up to the building where his new home would be, Jason wondered what the people on the sidewalk thought as they watched the line of black SUVs (with lights flashing, no less) pulled into the spaces saved for them. The president had just arrived? Damn, he’d been trained as a spy, so this felt very unnatural. With a sigh, he leaned close to the window, staring up at the skyscraper. Their new home was up there? Well, it was a whole lot better than the hospital, especially after a nine-day stint.

“All right,” the lead agent said after they’d parked. “Mr. Catalano, if you’ll stay in the car until we have Mr. Bourne’s wheelchair on the sidewalk, I’d appreciate it.”

“Sure.” As the agent exited the car, leaving another agent in the front seat, Michael took Jason’s hand. “You doing okay?”

“Uh, not used to being treated like this,” Jason murmured.

“They’re being very cautious at this point.”

After the deaths of the two agents who’d been guarding Michael during their ill-fated visit with Gustavo, the FBI weren’t taking any chances. True, except for Lakshmi, who was still missing, they had most of the major players locked up, but there were a few people they still hadn’t found, so they’d erred on the side of caution. Nor could they count all the CIA assets who might be out there not to mention Infernum sleeper agents. A few minutes later, the wheelchair had been put into position. As Michael exited the car on the driver’s side, one of the agents opened the door as Jason scooted closer.

Then Michael was there. “Is the brake on?” he asked the agent, who nodded. “Good.” He smiled, extending a hand as Jason exited the car, hanging onto it as the chair was positioned a bit closer. “Perfect!” Michael said as if he’d done a wondrous thing.

Jason smiled, thinking how low the bar was these days. Successfully exiting a car, for instance. Powering up the wheelchair, he was escorted into the massive building, through a grand marble-floor lobby, and on into the private elevator, feeling small surrounded by the phalanx of agents. Soon they were on the fiftieth floor and after a short trek down the hall, Michael was unlocking the front door.

“Here we are,” he said, stepping back as he swept a hand like a realtor showing the place.

Jason took the hint and went ahead of him into … well, wow. It was huge, like Nicky said. Lots of hardwood flooring broken up by expensive rugs set in certain areas like the living room. 

“It’s all on one floor, of course,” Michael said after thanking the agents, walking with him.

“It’s amazing,” Jason said as he moved toward the kitchen, tucked away in one big corner. “Double ovens? Good for you guys.”

Michael laughed. “You’ve got us pegged. Plenty of room for me to bake bread while Nicky cooks a chicken.”

Jason saw a huge kitchen table tucked in the same space as well as a separate dining room area, plus, of course, there was a good-sized island with chairs. Oh, and they had a double refrigerator. He stopped, patting the huge thing. “Lots of room for Nicky’s cooking and yours.”

“True.”

Back in the main area, he paused by the windows to check outside. This building was the tallest one in this particular area, so there was a lot of sky to be seen along with distant buildings. Many different-sized lounge chairs were scattered on what he assumed was real grass. Off to one side, there was a party area with a fire pit, stove, sink, fridge, tables and chairs—the works. On a good day, it’d be a nice place to retreat to when he was going stir crazy. Then they went down a hall to the bedrooms including one of the master suites. His room. “Michael, this is huge!” he said when he saw the enormous bed, the flat screen TV, the creamy-white couch, several long dressers, a walk-in closet that was much too big. Then he rolled into the ensuite bathroom that featured a huge shower stall as well as a giant bathtub. Jason stared at both. “Someday,” he said with a sigh.

Michael dropped a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll go by quickly.”

Jason looked back at Michael, knowing how lucky he was. Nothing had guaranteed that his former lover would return to him. Everything he’d done at Gustavo’s: the attack on the guards, the escape with the Ledger, the refusal to tell Gustavo where that vital info had gone, none of it had been done so that Michael would reverse his position. He’d done it so that Michael would survive, along with the Ledger. So that _he’d_ survive. All of this? It was icing on the cake. And very, very strange.

“Jason?” It was Nicky, peeking into the room. “There you are!” With a smile she came forward to kiss his cheek. “Welcome home! What do you think? Pretty amazing, isn’t it?”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

She gave him an even bigger smile. “We’re going to have a great time. We have every TV channel known to mankind, a huge library of fiction and non-fiction books, all kinds of board games and puzzles, an unbelievable music collection, and a freezer filled with, well, everything.”

He cocked his head. “So in the event of the zombie apocalypse, we’re set?”

She laughed. “We are! Oh, and I guess I should tell you that Jim just arrived. He wanted to say hi and update us on a few things. You up for it?”

“Sure,” Jason said, although he wasn’t sure he was ready for any of this. How had he become someone who lived in a place like this? Who rolled around in a power wheelchair? Who didn’t have a job and yet, lived in this luxury?

Back in the living room area, they found Jim standing there as he surveyed their place. “Hey,” he said when he saw Jason, eyebrows slanting into a benevolent frown. “How are you?”

Jason shook the hand offered. “Better than the last time you saw me, sir.”

“I’d have to agree.”

Drinks were offered. Jason requested a cup of coffee with several teaspoons of sugar, hoping to wake himself up. Once they had their preferred beverages, everyone sat in the living room.

“I’d like to bring you up-to-date on a few things,” Jim began. “As you know and as I assume you’ve told Jason, we have Gustavo and several of his high-level men in custody on a variety of charges. Given the attack on Jason, none of them are likely to be released, although their lawyers have been pressuring the judge to allow home confinement.” He looked at Jason, a sad smile in place. “That’s one reason I made sure we had a number of photos of your injuries, Jason. I wanted the judge to understand what they did.”

His memory of that photography was vague at best. “I figured.”

Jim looked from Jason to Michael to Nicky. “After indictments are handed down, you’ll all have to testify. Jason still needs to be interviewed, but I’ve asked our investigators to give him as much space as possible. There’s also, as you know, a separate investigation into the group Jason was a part of, uh, Treadstone.” He gave Jason a gentle smile. “And that will include the site they sent you to at one point. I understand your memories of that time have returned.”

Jason gave him a curt nod.

“Okay, well, those are a few of the activities that’ll keep you in New York for months to come. I understand from Mr. Catalano that you can work from here, both of you?”

“Yes,” Michael said. “And if I need to go back to Paris for some reason, I can do that, although I think as a general rule they can come to me.”

“Well, our plan is to keep the security tight until we have a better idea how many people are involved. The Ledger, as I’m sure you know, is a treasure trove of information and we expect many other arrests, not only here in the States, but throughout Europe. This entire investigation and criminal prosecution is, as you can imagine, going to take years, especially if information about President Catalano’s death becomes part of the story.”

“I think we can handle it,” Michael said, looking over at Jason. “And if that changes, we’ll deal with it.”

“I should also tell you that we located one of Graeme McKenna’s associates. After a bit of persuasion, he gave us the names of the CIA unit that’d financed their attempt to highjack Treadstone’s assassination plot. So that’s another thread to this whole thing.”

Sipping his coffee, Jason’s head was pounding. So he did have a job … or would. Testifying before prosecutors as well as grand juries not to mention juries in a courtroom. Terrific.

“I can see that this is all a bit overwhelming,” Jim said with an understanding smile, “so let me conclude with a bit of good news for Jason and Nicky.”

Nicky, who’d been drinking a Diet Coke, sat up a bit straighter.

“For years,” Jim began, “various agencies both here and in Europe have been trying to take down Infernum, which, as you know, has been notoriously elusive. You’ve changed all of that, Jason. By acquiring and protecting the Ledger, that critical piece of evidence they thought they’d keep off any electronic media, you’ve given us an amazing view into the inner workings of this group. We believe many current and past crimes will be put in motion once we’ve done our investigations, talked to our witnesses, worked the whole thing. It’s going to keep a lot of people busy. Anyway, over the years, there’s been rewards established for that information, rewards that doubled and tripled as people we feared were enemies of Infernum ended up dead or missing/presumed dead. Those rewards, both here in the States and in Europe, total almost three million dollars.”

Jason looked over at Nicky and saw her mouth drop.

Jim smiled. “That money will be yours.”

Nicky’s eyes were wide with shock. “But I didn’t do anything.”

“Nonsense! You saved Jason’s life,” Jim said as he focused on Nicky. “And in doing that, you took down one facet of the conspiracy to murder Mr. Catalano. You’ve also been, well, Jason’s partner in the whole thing in many ways.”

“She has,” Jason said with a quickness that kept his voice from breaking. “But what about Michael?”

“Michael has already indicated that he’d like any portion of the reward that might be his to go to you two.”

Michael raised his hand before Jason could speak. “I have more than enough money. Furthermore, I have you,” he turned his head to smile at Nicky, “and you too. Good friends who’ve enriched my life much more than any amount of cash ever could.”

Jason bit on his inner lip. Making a scene in front of Jim would _not_ happen. “Maybe I could pay you back—”

“Jason, let’s not discuss this right now, okay? How about we just rejoice in the fact that something good will come out of this?”

“I can do that!” Nicky said, her voice a bit high.

Everyone laughed and the tension was broken.

§ § §

After Jim left, they sat around for a while discussing the whole reward issue. Thankfully, it involved fantasizing and jokes rather than a serious discussion. It’d be a good six months or longer before the actual cash turned up. Despite that, even after a second cup of coffee, Michael could tell that Jason was wilting. No surprise. Everything that’d happened was a lot for anyone to take in and after all he’d been through, it had to be even worse. He wasn’t surprised when Jason said he was going to his bedroom and “relax” for a while, before lunch. Nicky promised she’d come get him when it was ready and then he’d taken off, refusing the offers of help.

“He’s upset,” Nicky whispered as they retreated to the kitchen.

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“I’d be … out of my mind by now, curled up in a corner somewhere,” she said, eyes filled with tears.

Knowing how strong she was, he doubted that, but he put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her into a sideways hug. This journey? It would test them all. “Let’s take it hour-by-hour. If we need extra help, we can get it.”

She jerked at the words. “I don’t want some stranger taking care of Jason!”

“No, no, I was thinking of help such as grocery shopping or care of our place. We should also probably hire a car service since Jason will have a number of appointments. I have no intention of hiring nurses or other caretakers to watch over him, Nicky. We’ll work it out between the two of us. And part of that? It’s watching that we don’t burn out, okay? Let’s take a day to think about that and come up with a strategy that’ll keep that from happening.”

A smile had crept back onto her face. “You mean like taking a pottery class or learning macramé?”

“Exactly!” With a laugh, Michael kissed her cheek. Okay, good. She got it. Avoid burnout at all costs.

§ § §

Several hours later, around one-thirty, Michael went down the hall to see if Jason was up. He knocked softly, then pushed the door open. “You awake?”

Jason lay propped up by several pillows, a few more cushioning his leg. He opened his eyes to stare at Michael. “Yeah.”

He went over to the bed, sitting down, and took a good look a Jason. “Did you sleep?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Not really.” Jason rubbed the one finger that hadn’t been broken, twisting his mouth as if trying to decide what to say. “I’m … I don’t know who I am anymore, Michael. Just … it seems like I’m broken and I can’t function.”

“That isn’t an identity, Jason. Not for you. Perhaps if your injuries were permanent, but in your case, they’re not.” He managed a slight smile. “Besides, it’s much too soon to worry about that.”

“I know what you mean, but I-I guess that’s not the kind of broken I mean.” 

“Tell me more,” Michael said, following the advice Dr. Peña had given him. 

“I … from the time I went into the Army at eighteen, I’ve been required to move forward, no matter what happened. If I fell in battle and was injured, I had to get up and go on, ignoring my fear or pain. There was never a chance to think about anything, to, I guess the word is _process_ what happened.”

“Necessary in a combat situation.”

“Yes, of course. That pattern, though, continued once I’d been recruited into the CIA. No matter what they did to get what they wanted, I was expected to go on, to not complain, to give into that pressure and follow their plan, however crazy.” Jason stared at his hand as he continued to massage it. “Didn’t matter how much I’d been fucked over. I couldn’t complain, I couldn’t ask for mercy, I couldn’t beg for them to stop, all I could do was do what I was ordered to do.”

“The alternative was death?”

“Yes. It … at least once, that seemed the better choice.”

Michael tried not to wince. “That’s makes sense, Jason. We all have limits and when we reach them, sometimes death becomes attractive.”

Jason stared straight ahead, seeing something Michael couldn’t see. “I … felt the same way at the black ops site … even more so.”

Michael shivered. Jason remembering that hellhole wasn’t helping him in the least bit, but the way he’d been savaged by Gustavo had jolted that previous horror back into his consciousness. Another reason to make sure the son of a bitch never got out of prison. Michael took a deep breath. “I can imagine.”

“I know I shouldn’t, but I keep thinking about how-how I woke up in that place as they were cutting off my clothes. I was confused, had no idea what had happened, where I was, nothing. I only knew I’d been shackled hand and foot, that I was laying on a freezing concrete floor in a small cell surrounded by four men without an ounce of humanity in their eyes.” He turned to look at Michael. “I was terrified.”

Despite all the horror in the world, Michael was still shocked every time he heard about deliberate cruelty like what Jason had experienced. How in hell did those men justify such action? “You need to look around and see where you are now, Jason. That’s what Dr. Peña would say, right?”

Jason stared at him and Michael knew that despite what he’d said, Jason was still trapped in that memory. “That … that thing I could never remember? The memory that kept cropping up only to disappear? I saw it when I was in Berlin.” Jason stopped, the tense lines in his face painful to see. “Those fuckers had video of me—videos!” He looked like he’d like to tear out someone’s throat. “They showed them to me, Michael. On the VR set, in full living color, while I was tied down in the fucking chair. They showed me what I’d gone through.”

Michael touched his arm, but didn’t speak. Sooner or later, these things would come out. And Jason needed to be the one making that choice.

Jason stared at Michael, but seemed to be seeing something else. “They … in that place, they did everything they could to tear down a person’s self-worth not to mention his grasp on reality. Stress positions were a favorite method of torture, for instance stringing someone up so they could barely stand on their toes.” He closed his eyes. “The worst thing, though …” He drew in a ragged breath. “It was … they like to humiliate prisoners by feeding them rectally, jamming a tube into them and forcing in some kind of—” He shook his head. “—some kind gruel.” Fresh tears tracked down his face, tears he pushed away with an angry hiss. “They’d position you doggy style, in-in full view of the other prisoners, while they did this.” He closed his eyes. “They’d laugh and make jokes about what a little bitch you were, what a worthless piece of shit, what a—what a …”

Michael moved to take him into a gentle embrace, mindful of his injuries. Without a word, he held him because what could he say?

“But it worked, right?” Jason went on. “They planted that suggestion in my brain: kill Michael Catalano when you hear this song. They succeeded and I almost—I almost—”

“But you didn’t,” Michael said, holding him a little tighter. “Nicky was there and she brought you back. It’s okay, Jason. Those guys are monsters and if they’re still in business, I hope the director of the CIA can close them down and prosecute the hell out of them. Meanwhile …” He pushed back the hair that’d fallen on Jason’s forehead. “Meanwhile, I love you, Nicky loves you, and we’re going to help you deal with all of this as long as it takes.”

That produced a slight smile and Michael thought they might have turned a corner. “Thank you. I love you too and I love Nicky. I wish I wasn’t such a—”

“—human being? Not sure that’s possible.” He thumbed away the tear tracks on Jason’s face. “Uh, listen. Nicky bought tomato soup from the deli around the corner and she’s pairing it was grilled cheese sandwiches.” He touched Jason’s arm. “And get this? She’s adding _bacon_ to each sandwich.”

That produced a smile. “Really?”

The relief made Michael return that smile. “Really. How about we change the subject by focusing on that cheesy goodness?”

Another smile and, yes, Jason looked relieved. “Okay, you convinced me.”

§ § §

Nicky took a spoon and scooped up some of the tomato soup, which she’d been reheating, blowing for a minute before she popped it into her mouth. Perfect.

“Here we are,” Michael said just then as they came around the corner. “It smells wonderful.”

Cutting the flame under the soup, she poured it into bowls as Jason appeared. “Hi! I wasn’t sure if you liked tomato soup, but—”

“I love it, especially with grilled cheese sandwiches,” Jason said before she could finish. 

“Oh, good. Thank you, Michael,” she said as he picked up the soup bowls as well as a mug for Jason and carried them to the kitchen table where they’d decided to eat. More homey, right? She took the platter with the sandwiches out of the oven where she’d been keeping them warm and soon they were all sitting around the table stuffing their faces.

“Oh, God,” Jason said after his first bite of sandwich. “Why have we been eating them all these years without bacon?”

“We were blind,” Michael said as he took two more bites of his own sandwich. “Utterly blind!”

Nicky laughed, finishing off half of her own sandwich. “I made extra just for you guys.” Then she laughed again, because both of them didn’t answer thanks to the sandwiches in their mouths. Good. Jason still needed to gain some weigh and she was going to see that he did.

Halfway through the meal, when they’d slowed down a bit, Nicky decided to tell Jason about the movie marathon she’d planned with Michael. “Jason?”

He was drinking the soup out of the mug, but set it aside. “Yes?” She noticed he had some color in his face.

“Michael and I came up with a little, uh, well, call it a homecoming present we hope you’ll like.”

“What is it?” he asked with a sudden kid’s guileless expression of anticipation. 

“I remember you telling me that you liked the King Kong movies, that you and your dad used to watch them when you were a kid, before he … went to Vietnam.”

“That’s true.” Jason licked his lower lip and then took a sip of his Coke. “We didn’t watch all of them, of course, but the original one and the one with that famous actress in it, those we watched.”

“Jessica Lange. Yes, that was the remake.” Nicky sat up a little straighter. “I also remember you telling me that a few of the later ones you never got to see because of your job and you wished you had.”

“I did say that.” Then Jason’s face lit up. “Do you have some of those?” he asked like a kid at Christmas.

Nicky looked at Michael, then grinned at them both. “Yes, we do! In fact, Michael and I have created our own private movie theater and today it’s showing King Kong!”

“Specifically,” Michael chimed in, “The original Kong, the reboot with Jessica Lange, Peter Jackson’s 2005 Kong, and “Kong: Skull Island,” from earlier this year.”

“And …” Nicky said before Jason could speak, “we have popcorn to microwave and lots of movie candy.”

“Oh, God, you’re kidding!” Jason, who’d looked so subdued through their meal, seemed suffused with energy. “Are they on cable or …?”

“We bought them!” Nicky said, excited because Jason was excited. “You can watch them at your leisure, all of them, one of them, many times, any which way you like.”

Jason’s expression was transformed. “Can we watch Skull Island first?”

“Of course! Let’s get it set up.” Nicky scraped back her chair and began to gather dishes, Michael doing the same. As she carried things to the sink, she couldn’t be happier. The expression on Jason’s face? It was worth everything.

§ § §

The couch in the living room, the one that had been placed in front of the largest flat-screen TV Jason had ever seen, had a function designed to make things easier for someone like him. It looked like an ordinary couch, but if you pushed a button on one side, a sturdy platform folded out, one large enough to cradle his bad leg as well as his good one. Like a lounge chair, except it wasn’t. Michael pulled out a couple of large pillows that had been stored nearby and just like that, he was in good shape.

“Jason?” Nicky sat on the other side of Michael, her legs curled up, a wide smile on her face. “You let me know when you want popcorn, okay? We’re on holiday, Michael and me, so feel free to watch as few or as many movies as you like. She held up a bag. “Here. Dessert. There’s chocolate you might like.”

He took the bag, surprised to find that it was filled with boxes and bags of candy. “Wow,” he said, “now I know for sure this is better than the hospital.” When he spotted a small box of Godiva cherry cordials, he pulled them out, looking over to see Nicky’s grin. She knew him so well.

“Pace yourself,” she said with a giggle.

Then the opening credits were rolling and he was biting into the first chocolate. Shit, maybe there was hope for him, for his life, for his fucked-up brain, for everything. 

Maybe.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

As the SUV moved through the mid-afternoon Manhattan traffic, Jason had a smile on his face, one he couldn’t seem to wipe away. He’d spent the morning talking to FBI investigators about … well, everything. It’d been exhausting and not the first time he’d done it, but it didn’t bother him because there he was, in an office building he’d walked into on his own two feet—and help from a pair of crutches—doing things like people do. Regular people, normal people, people without casts and splints, bruises, bandages, all the shit he’d been dealing with the last four weeks. Sure, he still had the crutches and there was a splint holding his knee straight, but those were minor compared to the way things had been when he was cruising around in that nifty wheelchair. A few days ago, his left hand had been freed from its splint and that? It made the crutches possible. Now, he could go out on his own, albeit, with FBI agents, there to keep any leftover murderers at bay, and he could _do_ things. Today, in fact, in addition to the time spent talking to law enforcement, he’d had a session with his PT guy and then stopped at a deli to pick up a quick lunch. Now? He was on his way to his appointment with Dr. Peña.

“Sir?”

He turned to look into the earnest face of Chris Taylor, his sometime FBI escort. “Yeah?”

Chris, who was maybe twenty-seven, a junior agent, but according to Jim, a ferocious opponent in any combat situation, looked less like a brutal savage and more like, well, an anxious high-school kid. “Can I ask you something?”

That made Jason grin. “She won’t bite you, Chris,” he said, patting the agent’s arm. “Unless, of course, you want her too.”

That turned Chris’ cheeks a rosy shade of pink. “I know I must sound pathetic, but I just don’t have a lot of experience with girls.”

Nicky had caught Chris’ eye almost from the beginning. He sometimes guarded the penthouse and they’d found time to talk. Sparks had flown and now they were having their first date. “You don’t sound pathetic to me. I didn’t have much experience with girls either.”

Chris looked confused. “But you’re gay.”

“Bi and very awkward in high school.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Listen, Chris, Nicky wouldn’t go out with you just to be polite. She knows what she wants.” He blew out air. “I’m not sure I would’ve made it without her, so, yes, she’s strong and determined. You can’t bullshit her or try to manipulate her, but that’s not you, right?”

“God, no. My mother would kill me.”

“Then relax. You’ll be fine. Just … have fun. Enjoy each other’s company. There’s zero chance you would’ve met except for all the shit that went down, so enjoy that happy coincidence.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” he said as they pulled up to the building when Dr. Peña’s office was located. He waited while Chris got out of the car to check things, wondering when he’d become the wise old man.

Chris stuck his head through the open door. “We’re good.”

Jason handed his crutches to Chris and then slid over and stood up, the weight on his left leg light. He took the crutches, positioning them. “Let’s go.”

Upstairs, Chris checked out the waiting room, then told him to go on in. “Here’s your lunch,” he said when Jason sat down, handing him the bag and bottle of water, then closing the door behind.

“Thanks.” Jason unscrewed the bottle of water and took a long drink, then reached into the bag for the ham-and-cheese sandwich. That’s when Dr. Peña walked in. “Oh, hi, doctor,” he said, feeling guilty for eating in the guy’s waiting room.

Tall, slim, with dark hair and a little scruff on his face, Peña was a former Marine who’d served in both Afghanistan and Iraq. He had a scar on his forehead thanks to a bomb blast that had missed him, but sent a sharp object hurtling his way. He’d also lost the bottom half of his right leg and used a prosthetic. And yet, despite his own struggles with PTSD, pain, depression, the whole nine yards, he was a cheerful, compassionate man, one who Jason had been drawn to. “Jason.” Peña smiled. “You’re a little early. Bring your lunch into my office and we can eat together. I have half a salad to finish.”

“Okay.” Jason grabbed his crutches and as he did, Peña scooped up his sandwich and water. Then they headed inside.

§ § §

Adam got Jason situated and then popped into the room where his small refrigerator was located, grabbing the salad. Back in the office, he sat across from the young man, who appeared to be waiting for permission to eat. “Go on. Let’s do this,” he said with a smile, always surprised by how respectful Jason was. One of the many reasons he enjoyed their sessions. Opening his own half-finished lunch, he took several bites of Chinese Chicken salad, eyeing Jason as he did. “You’re looking … tired, but happy,” he said finally.

Jason finished his bite of sandwich, wiping his mouth before he spoke. “I guess I am. It’s amazing how simple, even trivial things can seem like the greatest thing ever.”

“You mean, when you’ve been unable to do anything unless three people were involved?”

“Exactly.”

During one of Jason’s first sessions, they’d discussed that. Jason had had an interesting life, one focused on physical prowess, nerves of steel, discipline, and quick thinking. Then those Infernum terrorists had done their best to kill him and it’d changed his whole world. Add to that all the other things he’d gone through—two other torture experiences, the PTSD, the nightmares, the whole goddamn fabric of his life—and, yes, he’d needed someone to help him figure it all out. They were doing that, but, just as it’d been with Adam years ago when he’d gone through a similar experience, it took time. Lots of time. “Have the flashbacks been behaving themselves?”

“Not completely, but they’re much better than they were last week or the week before.”

“That’s a good sign. It means you’re stabilized in ways you weren’t before so those assholes don’t have as many opportunities to latch onto you in unexpected moments.”

“Was that how it worked with you, sir?”

One thing that’d helped Jason was the expansion of his world. Knowing other people had struggled with the same issues and survived had made a huge difference. “Oh yes,” Adam said, then chomped down on another forkful of salad. “And like I’ve told you, and I’m sure the people in your group have said it too, it can turn up anywhere, anytime. You learn how to live with it and, yes, it lessens, but it’s always close in case you have a bad day.”

“As long as I have a few good days, I think I’m all right.”

“Good attitude.” Adam wiped his mouth, then closed the empty container and set it aside. “How’re things with you, Michael, and Nicky?”

A huge grin appeared. “Nicky has a date tonight.”

“With that FBI agent?”

“Chris, yes. He’s really nervous.”

“I don’t blame him. Nicky is an amazing young woman.”

“Yeah, she is.”

“Did you ever think you’d date her?” Adam asked, still trying to understand the nature of this threesome.

“Back when I first hit Paris, sure. But I was working so hard to fit in at Vérité while spying on Michael that it didn’t leave room for, uh, romance.”

“Your CIA boss, Conklin, put the fear of God in you?”

“Always.” Jason shrugged. “Then Michael happened, things got dicey, and Nicky became a trusted friend.”

“And Michael had to become the focus, which you didn’t mind.”

That elicited a smile. “Yeah.” Jason paused and Adam waited, knowing there was more. “He … back when it began, we were great together. Very intense, spent a lot of time with one another, did a lot of talking and … all the things you’d expect. It gave me an emotional depth I didn’t know I needed.” He shrugged. “Maybe that’s daddy issues, maybe not, but it went deep. I want back into that relationship, but I’m not sure how or if the time is right,” he finished in a halting tone.

“You mean sexually?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think you’re up for sexual activity?”

“Not totally, but …” Jason bit his lower lip. “We have to start somewhere.”

“Has Michael indicated he’d be good with that? If it was me, I’d be hesitant, especially since your knee and ribs are still in the healing stage.” 

Jason chewed on a fingernail. “We haven’t talked about it.”

“Okay, well perhaps that what you need to do. His first concern is your well-being, so he wouldn’t want to do anything to set back your progress.”

“True.”

Adam smiled when he realized Jason’s embarrassment. “Don’t get me wrong, I think getting close to Michael would be a good thing for you, Jason. From everything I’ve seen, the two of you have something special.”

“We had it back in Paris, but then it got blown up.”

“However, Michael tells me, and I assume he’s told you, he was wrong about how he reacted and he wants to return to that place where you left off. That’s extraordinary. Not many people would be willing to do that.”

“You’re right, of course. I guess I’m afraid it won’t work.”

“You’ll never know unless you try.”

Jason gave him a quick nod, but didn’t speak.

Time to move on. “How’re you getting along in the group? It looked like you were headed out with Samuel and Omar on Friday.”

Jason shifted in his chair, pausing to stow the sandwich wrapper in the bag. “Yeah, we had coffee. It was nice. Omar knows a guy I once worked with. And, uh, Samuel said he had the same experience with flashbacks episodes after being pinned down during a firefight. He said it took him years to get past that.”

“Umm, so … good stuff?”

“Yes. I’m glad I decided to go.”

The group meant at a nearby church every Friday. Sometimes, there’d only be one or two people, sometimes ten. God knows, veterans and PTSD sometimes seemed to go together like peanut butter and jelly. Still, it gave them the opportunity to talk to other people who shared their same problems. Occasionally, they even had someone who gave them an involuntary demonstration involving PTSD. But good, all good. “Well, I hope you’ll keep coming whenever you can. It helps to know you’re not the only person struggling with this crazy thing.”

“Did you have a group to go to?”

“I did. And just like yours, there were people missing body parts. That helped more than I can say. And I made good friends too, friends I still keep in touch with.”

“Because they understand in a way civilians can’t?”

“To some extent, yes, although civilians can have their own traumatic experiences.”

“That’s true. Both Michael and Nicky were traumatized. Michael still has bad dreams about our escape from Gustavo’s place and Nicky has talked to me several times about shooting Graeme.”

“I can imagine. So, it sounds like you’re doing your own counseling.”

“Not really. Just talking to them.”

He gave Jason a gentle smile. “Which is what counseling is all about.”

Jason grabbed his water bottle and took a swig. “True. And doctor? You do a great job at that.”

“Well, thank you. Want to talk about your future plans?”

“Okay, let’s do it.”

§ § §

When Jason walked into their apartment, Nicky was sliding the roast into the oven. She set the timer for one hour, listening to the thump of Jason’s crutches. “Hi,” she said, closing the oven door as she turned in his direction.

“Wow, look at you,” Jason said, pausing to check out her outfit. “Boy, is Chris in trouble.”

Nicky took a stance, hands on her hips. “What does that mean?” she asked in mock outrage, although she knew the vivid blue sheath she wore, cinched at her waist with a wide belt, was killer.

“It means you’re gorgeous. He doesn’t stand a chance.” Jason pursed his lips, nodding. “Although, I think that’s exactly what he wants.”

“Oh!” She threw the potholder at him. “You talked to him about our date? Isn’t that breaking our confidentiality agreement?”

“He’s a little nervous.” Jason came closer, a tiny smile in place. “Be gentle with him, huh? You’re his first real woman.”

She reached over to kiss his cheek. “You’re in a good mood. What does that mean? Real woman?”

“It means he’s been dating immature girls. Go easy.”

She shook a finger at him, then got between the crutches to give him a proper hug. “You look like you need a nap.”

“Definitely. When’s Michael due home?”

“In another hour.” She indicated the oven. “This roast of his is an ‘old-fashioned’ kind where you add the veggies in the third hour. He says it makes the whole thing to die for, but it takes a while.”

“Perfect. Well, have fun and be home by midnight or I’ll send out an FBI agent to …” He managed a confused look that didn’t fool her. “Hmm. Maybe not. Might be redundant.”

“You dope!” She pointed toward the bedrooms. “Go take your nap, young man!”

“And no sex on the first date!” he said, pivoting around. As he walked away, they were both laughing.

§ § §

Michael came into the apartment a little after four, heading for the kitchen to check the roast. It’d been in little more than an hour and, when he opened the oven door, it looked great. And the aroma! Reducing the temperature to 325 degrees, he added a half cup of beef broth, then salt, pepper, and a dash of thyme. God, it smelled wonderful. Setting his watch for another hour, he went into the living room, removing his suit coat and loosening his tie. Then he headed down the hall to Jason’s room.

With a soft knock, he opened the door enough to get a look inside.

Jason lay on his left side, his leg propped, his sleepy expression highlighted by a smile. “Hi.”

“Am I disturbing you?” Michael said as he walked closer.

“No. I just woke up,” Jason mumbled, his eyes half-closed.

Toeing off his shoes, Michael crawled onto the bed and moved close, smiling when he saw the sleep lines the bed had left on Jason’s cheek. He opened up his arm as Jason moved into his embrace, burying his face in Michael’s shoulder. “I missed you,” he whispered, messing Jason’s hair.

“Me too.”

“How was your day?”

“Busy. At least, for me. Can’t believe I used to have such a heavy schedule back in Paris. The only thing that gets me through my day now is knowing a nap is coming.”

“And you’ll have that busy schedule soon enough, trust me. Don’t think you’ll be able to lounge around the pool just because you know the boss.”

Jason kissed his neck. “Not even if give the best blowjobs in the western hemisphere?”

“Umm, that _might_ sway me.” As Jason raised his head, they kissed: once, twice, many times, the kisses beginning soft and sweet, but accelerating with a rapidity that surprised Michael. In an instant, he was hard and when he checked, Jason was too. Should they …? “I don’t know if we can—” he began after several more heated minutes.

“I want to,” Jason said, his blue eyes dark with a desire Michael hadn’t seen in quite a while.

“Me too, but I’m concerned about your knee and your ribs.”

“Hey, I just had a nap. I’ve got lots of energy. Come on, we can figure it out.”

Michael leaned forward to give him another kiss and caught a whiff of himself. Running around in New York for hours on end would do that to you, especially on a warm-ish day. “Well, before we do anything, I ought to jump in the shower and make myself presentable,” he said. Right then, the answer came to him. “Even better, how about we _both_ jump in the shower? The way it’s set up, there’s plenty of room.”

“That bench is sturdy,” Jason said, then kissed Michael’s nose. “However, I’m not sure how we’d—”

“Why don’t you let me figure that out? You’ll be sitting the whole time.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “I’m getting spoiled!”

“And that will continue to be the case,” Michael said as he rolled off the bed. He came around to the Jason’s side. “Okay, let’s go on into the bathroom before I embarrass myself and do something I haven’t done since I was twelve.”

Jason hooted, standing up and taking his crutches from Michael. “If I see a wet spot—”

“Not another word!”

Once they hit the bathroom, they’d shed their clothes in record time. Michael turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature and positioning the many shower heads so that they wouldn’t be blasted. Then he helped Jason in, closing the door behind and then seating him.

Jason stretched, groaning as the water hit him. “That feels good.”

“I’d say that’s pretty obvious,” Michael said, gesturing to Jason’s boner.

“You’re one to talk.”

Michael looked at his own erection. God, it’d been a long time, hadn’t it? Back in Paris, they’d gone at it like rabbits every moment they were together. Then that world had exploded into a million shattered pieces and now … He grabbed the shea-butter French soap and a washcloth, soaping it up and then, beginning with his face, carefully washing Jason from head to toe. A goddamn labor of love, one he enjoyed to the max.

“Oh, shit,” Jason murmured repeatedly as the soap’s sharp scent, the warm water, and Michael’s gentle, but firm touch had its effect. With a light touch, Michael soaped his cock, taking care not to finish the job as Jason whispered soft protests.

Michael helped Jason stand and then washed him all the way down his back, lingering on his intimate parts. “Okay,” he said after he’d rinsed him under the warm water. “Now me.” 

Jason sat down, watching as Michael soaped himself. “Oh, come on, let me help,” he said, hand out for the washcloth. Then he began to soap Michael’s dick. “Wow, look at what I did,” he said as it stood to attention.

Michael turned into the stream of water, the soap sliding off his slick skin.

“Let me finish,” Jason pleaded when Michael crouched in front of him. “I was just getting my rhythm.”

Propping his hands on either side of the bench, Michael leaned forward to kiss Jason over and over again. Then, kneeling, he took Jason’s cock between his hands, rolling gently. “No way, me first,” he murmured before he lowered his head.

The immediate sensation shot through Jason as he braced himself against the wall, the water still hitting both of them. Throwing back his head, he closed his eyes and moaned so loud his voice bounced off the shower walls. 

Good!

Michael took time to suck on each ball before he finished the job, holding Jason in place with one arm when he lurched forward as the orgasm tore through him. With the water splashing over both of them, he watched Jason’s expression and saw the joy break though.

“Oh, God, that felt so good,” Jason said when he’d gotten his breathing under control. He leaned against Michael, arms around his neck. “I love you, know that? So much.”

Then his own joy stood up and took a bow. “I do know it. I love you too.”

“In a few minutes, it’s your turn.”

“Let’s do that somewhere drier, okay? I think it’d be safer for you.” Michael raised his head to stare into Jason’s eyes, noting how happy he looked. Good. That’s one thing he could do that the doctors couldn’t do. Ha!

His day had gotten so much better.


	30. Chapter Thirty

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Thirty**

As their town car pulled up in front of Michael’s hair salon, Chic, Jason wondered if he’d ever get used to this, well, lifestyle upgrade. Talk about going up a couple of notches. Shit, he was a kid from Nixa. No one in Nixa got their hair done in a place like this. It still seemed weird to him, just as weird as living in a penthouse in a very tall building or having a steely-eyed escort everywhere he went.

“What’re you thinking?” Michael asked, seated next to him.

Jason shrugged. That it’s been a long time since I got a haircut.”

“Very true.” Michael patted Jason’s leg. “And you get to do it with only minimal evidence that you were once seriously injured.”

The metal forearm crutch that’d replaced the underarm crutches had a hand grip and signaled a definite step up in terms of his progress. He could put weight on his bad leg, he could walk with the help of the crutch, he could get around. “True. And it won’t be long before I can ditch it.”

“I expect to see you do a little jig when that day comes.”

Jason laughed. “Definitely!”

“Wow, it’s beautiful,” Nicky, seated on Michael’s other side, was staring at Chic’s stylish building. “I wish I was getting my hair cut.”

“We can get you an appointment,” Michael said as he turned in her direction. “As soon as we get inside, I’ll talk to Sandra who’s one of the two owners. They can find someone who—”

Nicky laid a hand on Michael’s arm. “Thank you, Michael, that’s really nice, but I just had my hair cut. I appreciate the offer, but, well, maybe next time.”

The agent in the passenger seat opened his door just as the agents in the car following them did the same. Jason relaxed. This was his world, right? They had to check that the salon was safe. Would they examine each pair of scissors to make sure they weren’t too sharp?

“Howard?” Michael said just then, lowering the car’s rear window. “Our section is in the back. It’s separate from the main salon.”

“Yes, sir, thank you,” the agent said as he turned away.

“Will they let me into the ‘men’s only’ section or should I stay here?” Nicky asked, her tone telling them she was joking.

“Could be a problem,” Jason replied, dead serious. “I mean, you don’t look anything like a dude, Nicky. Sorry.”

“Ha, ha.” Nicky stuck out her tongue. “Just for that, I’m getting all my hair chopped off. I want to look more butch.”

Jason grinned, searching for a reply, but right then, the FBI guys were back and it was time to get his shaggy hair back into shape. After all, they’d be going home soon … at least for a while.

Inside, the place was humming. An all-white décor that included the light fixtures, the cabinets packed with hair supplies, and the chairs, the stylists at each station were chatting away, clipping, cutting, blow-drying their clients. Some of the women had pieces of tinfoil sticking out of their heads. What the hell was that? Some kind of outer space look? Walking down one of the rows, Michael in the lead, Jason returned the smiles he was getting, not sure if they found him funny or were just being polite.

Nicky laid a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t trip,” she whispered. “You might be devoured before you can get to your feet.”

“What?” It took him a moment to get her meaning. “Ha ha.”

Then they’d gone through a set of double doors, which they closed behind, the raucous noise in the big room immediately diminished. This was the men’s section, much smaller, with only one row of chairs and, at the moment, two operators. One man was getting his hair brushed, while another was being shampooed. Michael appeared to know both women. “Claire, hi,” he said as they walked down the aisle toward the second woman.

“Mr. Catalano,” the woman said and Jason heard the tight tone as if she’d forced herself to reply. Hmm. They’d had problems previously? Then, before he could consider it further, they were at the sink where a petite blonde was hunched over a man covered in a black cape, his head thrown back, although no water was running. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but something …

His Spidey sense pinged.

“Are we early, Scarlett?” Michael said to the woman.

As Scarlett raised her head, Jason saw the look in her eyes. Terror. Arm blocking Nicky and Michael, Jason took a step back, taking them with him.

That’s when Scarlett’s customer sprang up. “Easy does it, Jason, my love,” he murmured, revealing the Glock he’d been concealing as he threw back the black cape like some fucked up troubadour. Dressed in jeans, a black sweater, and work boots, he had a cheesy grin on his face. 

Nicky gasped.

Shocked, Jason jerked around in time to see the other man already on his feet, gun in hand.

“Who are you?” Michael demanded.

“He’s Graeme McKenna,” Nicky whispered, moving closer to Jason. “We told you—”

“I’ll bet you did, Nicky. Of course you would,” Graeme said in that same smooth, mocking tone. “It’s one of the highlights of your life.” He walked closer, covering all three of them as he waved the gun. “Put the owners in the closet. They’ve done their part. Then get the chairs set up,” he snapped at the other man.

Jason watched as the man pushed the woman named Claire ahead of him, going around them, taking the second woman with him further down the row of booths. Maybe they could—

“Jason, Jason.” Graeme moved to put an arm around his waist, jamming the gun into his ribs. “So good to see you again,” he said as he leaned close enough to kiss his cheek.

Jason watched Michael’s reaction. Fuck! He couldn’t believe he’d been talking about this shit with Dr. Peña. Was Michael about to learn that he’d had a gay sex teacher in the worst possible way? “What do you want?”

“One step at a time, my friend.” Gun firmly planted, Graeme smiled at Michael. “So how’s your love life, Mikey? Going well? Getting off on a regular basis? See, the reason I ask is that I had a lot to do with that.” He studied Michael’s expression, no doubt seeing the surprise he couldn’t conceal. “Oh, you’re kidding me! Jason didn’t tell you? Naughty Jason, very naughty.” He waved the gun in Jason’s face, then touched it to his temple. “I’m shocked, Jason. Shocked! Credit where credit is due, right?” He jammed the gun back into Jason’s ribs so hard he winced.

“Leave him alone,” Michael murmured.

“Oh, no—no, no, no, Mikey. See your little friend there, Nicky? Hi, Nicky, long time no see. Last time we were together, she shot me and that? It was to save your worthless life as well as Jason’s. Since then? Well, it hasn’t been much fun, you know what I mean? On the run with a fucking bullet in my leg. Blood and pain and losing sleep. Yeah, no fun at all.”

“That isn’t our fault. You—”

“Shut up!” Graeme hissed. He looked around to see his friend returning. Jason saw the plastic ties and thought about Gustavo, the library, the fucking thugs. Could it really be happening all over again? Fuck! That was twisted as hell! “Here and here,” Graeme said to the man, indicating two of the chairs. “Lock them facing outward.”

“Listen, if you have a grudge against me—” Jason said, then gasped when Graeme jammed the gun into his ribs again.

“Patience, grasshopper. You’ll all get what you’re owed.” He watched as Graeme’s stooge pushed Michael into the chair once he’d locked it into place, binding his hands to the chair arms, his legs to the footrest. Then he did the same thing with Nicky. 

“Anyway, Mikey, as I was saying, you owe me. Did he tell you? I’m the one who trained your boy. Yeah, me!” He gave Jason a hard shake. “Everything this delicious piece of ass knows about being queer? He learned it from me! No, really! Blow jobs, hand jobs, best positions for being fucked, lube, condoms, every last bit of it.” He shook Jason again. “Right? We had fun, didn’t we, lots of fucking fun!”

“Yeah, it was great,” Jason said as he continued to assess the situation. Keep him talking. Two men, two guns. With his two friends tied to chairs, it was untenable unless one of them slipped up, although Graeme ... he remembered Nicky telling him that the man appeared to have no training whatsoever. Somehow, they needed the agents outside to realize that something was going on and right now? That wasn’t happening. 

“You enjoyed it,” Graeme said in a pointed rebuke to his less-than-enthusiastic tone.

“You’re right, I did.”

“Fun fact, Mikey. Before me, your boy was hetero all the way.”

“Not true, Graeme, and you know it,” Jason said through clenched teeth. “I was … unschooled. That was your job and you did it well. Too bad you let someone talk you into becoming a wannabe assassin. It doesn’t become you.”

Graeme hissed his disagreement. “Fuck that, Jason! I almost got it done, you motherfucker. If it wasn’t for this one—” He jabbed a hand at Nicky, “—your boyfriend would’ve been dead and buried by now, long gone. Make them good and tight,” he said and Jason realized that the unnamed guy was gagging Michael and Nicky.

“What do you mean?” he asked, forcing himself not to lose focus.

“Well, let’s just say after Nicky shot me, I managed to get back into your safe house. Yeah, I did!” he said when Nicky, unable to speak, raised her eyebrows. “I got back inside, made a few calls, and …” He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, waving it in the air.

Nicky got it immediately, eyes going wide.

Graeme grinned with delight. “Smart girl! Yeah, I had a burner phone to use, lucky me!” He assumed a mock-serious face. So, here’s the plan, Jason. In a minute, you’re going to kill these two. Yeah, great plan, huh? Your two best friends, dead by your hand? I think it’s brilliant!” He put the gun to Jason’s head. “Walk with me,” he said and then guided them down to the end of the room where the two women had disappeared. There was a door down there, which Jason guessed, led to the closet Graeme had mentioned. Brain clicking, he was estimating his chances in one scenario after another. None were looking good.

“What’re you doing?” Jason asked, still stalling because he’d put it all together and knew what the asshole had in mind.

“What I’m up to, Jason, my good friend, is leaving you to spend the rest of your miserable life knowing you killed your two friends. Here, let’s get rid of this,” he said, and jerked the crutch off Jason’s arm, throwing it aside. “Can’t be a big, bad assassin like that, now can you?” His smile had turned ghoulish, his eyes dark. “Okay, ready?” He pulled a small phone out of his pocket, wiggling it in Jason’s face before he scrolled down the screen. “Where did I … ah, here it is!” He looked up for another nasty grin. “Okay, time for a blast from your past, bro! Enjoy!”

The next few seconds were crucial. He’d only had three sessions with Dr. Wu, the psychiatric specialist who’d worked with him on untangling the murderous compulsion the black ops assholes had implanted. Her teaching had never been tested in a real-world situation, but only in her office, so … Jason took a deep breath, running through the protocols. Maintain _your_ reality. Right, right. No matter how compelling, ignore the impulses that’d push into his consciousness, that’d demand murderous attention. They aren’t real, they’re destructive, and they must be ignored. Stay focused on the real job: keeping people alive. Trust your strength.

The music came at him then, shrill and loud. Metallica’s “Devil’s Dance.” 

__

_Yeah, I feel you too_  
Feel, those things you do  
In your eyes I see a fire that burns  
To free the you  
That's wanting through  
Deep inside you know  
Seeds I plant will grow 

The initial wave of blankness hit him hard, but he let it push through without effect. No blackout, no fugue state. The music, the song, the lyrics meant nothing. An empty irritation. Noise, meaningless noise. Another wave gripped him, weaker, and he gave it a mental kick. Fuck off! he thought with newfound authority and felt it wane. Exhilarated, he kept from smiling by sheer will. Defeat! He’d fucking defeated it! That’s when he dropped into his act.

“Jason?” Graeme said when he saw Jason’ fixed, blank stare. “What do you want?” he asked over the song’s blare.

“Where’s Catalano?” he demanded in a guttural tone, motionless, rigid, hands clenched into fists. 

“He’s there.” Graeme turned him so he could see where Nicky and Michael sat tied and gagged about ten feet away. “See?”

“Give me the goddamn gun.”

Just like that, Graeme, the man with absurd ambitions who really ought to consider any other line of work, handed over the gun.

Jason played him, popping out the clip to check it, shoving it back into the gun, then loading one into the chamber. Ignoring Graeme, he strode down to where the two “victims” sat. Graeme’s friend, standing on the other side of the chairs, stepped back, his alarm obvious. A grim expression in place, Jason positioned himself in front of Michael, making momentary eye contact with the man long enough to wink. Thank God, Michael realized what he was doing, closing both eyes for an instant, but not giving away the game. Jason raised the gun. 

Nicky struggled with her bonds and tried to say something. “Nixa,” probably, but this time? Not needed.

“What the hell is the hold-up?” Graeme demanded, walking toward him. “Do it! Go on, do it!” he shrieked.

Jason gave him a curt nod. Then he shot Graeme in the leg an instant before he whirled around to aim the gun at the asset’s head. “Drop it or you’re dead,” he said in a flat tone. Behind him, Graeme screamed where he’d fallen, kicking his good leg as he writhed. Poor, stupid son-of-a-bitch bastard. “I never miss, motherfucker,” Jason said to the other guy.

The guy, obviously Graeme’s friend because he also had no balls, laid his gun on the floor and raised his hands. “Don’t shoot!”

“Over here,” Jason said, waving the gun to move the asset next to Graeme. “On the floor. Now!”

Hands held high, the guy complied. That’s when Jason fished the pocket knife out of his coat, opened the blade and cut Nicky’s ties. The minute her hands were free, she grabbed the knife and freed her legs. Then she jumped up to free Michael.

“You son of a bitch,” Graeme was moaning, the pain in his voice obvious. “How could you do that?”

“It has everything to do with you being an idiot, Graeme. You’re in the wrong line of—”

The door at the other end of the room burst open and men with guns drawn stormed into the room.

“No!” Michael jumped out of his chair to stand in front of Jason, who still had the gun in his hand. “Don’t shoot!”

After that, it all got a little crazy as what seemed like a hundred agents swarmed the area. After he’d confiscated the gun, the lead agent ordered one of his men to take the three of them to a nearby couch. As they complied, Michael had an arm around Jason’s waist. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.”

“Your knee.”

“Oh, shit, I forgot about that,” Jason said. “I think … yeah, it’s fine.”

They sat on the couch as the agent stood close by guarding them. It took Jason a few minutes to get back to his normal self as his adrenaline level dropped. When that happened, he realized that Michael still had a protective grip on him. After what Graeme said, he wasn’t mad?

“You did it!” Nicky whispered on his other side.

“Did it? Uh, oh, yeah, I did, didn’t I? I’ll have to call Dr. Wu and let her know it worked.”

“Send her flowers … or chocolate.”

“Let’s send both along with a sizeable check to her favorite charity,” Michael said, arm tightening for a moment.

Jason turned to look into his eyes. “You’re not mad at me?”

Michael looked startled. “Mad? Why would I be mad? Oh, you mean that nonsense about training you?”

“Yeah.” He swallowed hard. “It’s true,” Jason said, so they were both clear.

“You told me your experience had been limited thanks to your grandmother’s death in your teens and how you ended up in the service.”

“Yeah, but still …”

Michael gave him a sweet smile, running the back of his fingers down Jason’s cheek in a tender gesture. “Jason? Don’t you think I know the difference between going through the motions and real love?”

Jason’s mouth dropped open and after that, all he could do was stare. 

That was a good point, right? A very good point.


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Thirty-One**

Jason was sitting on the edge of his bed, dressing when Michael came back into the bedroom. “They’re on their way up,” he said, pausing to kiss the top of Jason’s head.

Pulling him closer, Jason kissed Michael hard on the mouth. “Damn, they’re always so punctual.”

“FBI.”

“True.” Jason yawned as they separated. “Is there coffee?”

“Tons of it. I’ll make you a cup.” Michael picked up his shoes and brought them over to the bed. “Don’t forget your crutch.”

Ever since his little encounter with Graeme two days ago, Jason’s knee had been aching. It wasn’t a big deal, but Michael? He tended to worry. “It’s right here.”

Michael smiled. “Okay,” he said as he turned away. A moment later, Jason was alone, tying his shoes. Damn, he still couldn’t believe how well Michael had taken the news about Graeme. It was so shocking that he had to keep reminding himself it’d happened. They’d talked about it at length after the FBI had gotten all the details about the attack at Chic. Even when he told Michael that Graeme had sex with him numerous times, Michael didn’t appear to be troubled. He listened and seemed to understand, nor was he angry or jealous. In fact, he looked sympathetic, so finally Jason asked him why. “Because I now understand what your situation was,” he’d answer, the tenderness in his voice unmistakable. “You did what you were told to do. You had to. That’s survival and I can’t fault someone wanting to stay alive.”

“True.” At that instant, he’d had a vivid memory: Conklin throwing him into a chair and telling him in the crudest language possible what he had to do. Yep, Michael got it. He totally got it.

In the living room, he found Michael and Nicky on the couch, a spot saved for him. A cup of coffee sat on the table in front of him. “Hi, Jim,” he said, nodding to him and a couple of other agents. He sipped the coffee and found it sweet. Damn, he was getting spoiled. 

“Jason. How’s the leg?”

He made eye contact with Jim. “Uh, a little achy.”

“I’m glad that it’s not worse.” Jim took a sip of his own coffee. “I think we’re all on the same page with this thing, sir,” he said, addressing Michael, but including them all. “The three of you have become valuable witnesses in a huge assortment of criminal cases against a large roster of people, many of them in jail, but others outstanding. The big case, of course, and the one that’s been consuming us for so long is the circumstances surrounding your father’s death.” Frowning, Jim took another sip of coffee. “Now, that’s taken a huge leap thanks to the treasure trove of information we’ve been combing through. In fact, there are so many potential criminal indictments for so many different cases that it’ll keep dozens of prosecutors busy for a long time. We’ll need you not only for the initial interviews we’ve been doing, but as witnesses before a grand jury and, of course, the upcoming trials.”

“And you’re worried that more people might decide it’s a good idea to take us out,” Jason said, cutting to the chase.

“Your skills are extraordinary, Jason, but we can’t depend on one man, no matter how good he is, to protect all three of you, so, yes, I am. We already have intel that Alexander Conklin may have told more than one person that he’d love to see you dead.”

Jason nodded, not surprised. “I’m assuming at least a few of the other assets are in the wind.”

“They are.”

Michael stirred. “You’re saying, I assume, that you’d like to keep us close, which means returning to Paris is not a good idea. “

“It’d be expensive for us to put into place the necessary agents to guard you in Paris, that’s true. Even if the three of you lived together, you’d be more exposed on a daily basis than you are here.”

“And here you wouldn’t be paying for the agents’ housing and other expenses,” Nicky said. “I’m guessing that would be another huge expense.”

“Correct. We have offices in New York, the agents live nearby, and your living arrangement makes you a lot more secure than you’d be in Paris.” Jim paused long enough to sip coffee. “In light of what happened and how close we came to disaster, we’d like you to stay here, although we’d support business trips to Paris, as needed, of course. Assuming you’re good with that, we also have plans to upgrade your security. For instance, there’s a room on the fourth floor you can use for meetings with people who unexpectedly turn up, can’t be completely vetted, or who appear to be problematic for any reason.”

“You don’t want them on our floor, in this space,” Michael said, cocking an eyebrow. “Even if it’s someone we know.”

“Correct. It’s too easy for a bad actor to weasel his way in. On the fourth floor, we’d have more control … in fact, we’d be in the room. That would also become the place for deliveries of any kind. We’d also like to establish a secure telephone line, which would keep people from snooping. If it’s feasible, we’d also like to take everything offline that we can, even if it means going old school. For instance, Michael’s schedule.”

“You want it done on pen and paper?” Michael asked. 

“Or a laptop with no connection to the Internet.”

Michael smiled. “Also old school.”

“I think so. We need to do everything we can to protect all of you.”

Michael sat up straighter. “Jim, I think I speak for all of us in saying this isn’t surprising. Uh, it would be helpful if we could plan a quick trip home. I need to touch base with my people and make them aware that I’m still alive. And Jason and Nicky need to take care of their apartments, pack things up, put them in storage, things like that.”

“I figured that might be the case, sir. Since we’re soon coming into December, what if we plan a trip fairly soon? That way you can introduce a little Christmas cheer in your return and at least some of my agents won’t miss Christmas with their loved ones.”

“That’s sounds good, Jim. Your agents are top-notch and I support giving them time to be with their families. As for my people, my _second_ family, I’d like to be at the party I throw for them every year and make sure they all get their bonuses. It’s scheduled for the ninth.”

“Wow,” Jason said, smiling when Michael turned his way, “if you do that, they won’t mind that you’ve been gone so long. In fact, they’ll probably hope you stay away more often.”

Everyone chuckled and, yeah, it looked like they’d be headed home soon. Home? Could they even call Paris home anymore? Somehow, Jason wondered.

§ § §

When Michael woke up that morning, Jason was still in his arms, the two of them spooned together the way they’ve been when they fell asleep. After almost two weeks prep, they’d come into Paris late last night, the FBI spiriting them quickly from the airport, and had arrived at his heavily-guarded house, along with Nicky, in record time. Several days earlier, he’d spoken to his housekeeper, who’d been in charge of the house all these many months, asking her to change the sheets on all the beds, freshen up the place, and stock the refrigerator for the morning. Now? Their day had begun.

He checked the time. 6:30. They better get cracking because they had a meeting with Vérité’s senior management at 8:00. It was going to be a busy week, but this … he kissed the back of Jason’s neck. Yeah, this made it all worthwhile. He’d never felt so alive. “Hey, sleepyhead,” he whispered at Jason’s ear. “Time to get up.”

“Just a few more minutes, Dad,” Jason murmured.

Michael tightened his grip. “You’re asking for it, young man,” he said, because they’d done the whole “dad” thing before. Jason enjoyed pulling his chain. “I might have to spank you.”

“Oh, please, I beg of you!” Jason said, his voice still thick with sleep. He turned enough to see Michael. “Make it hard. That way I won’t be able to sit down and I can tell everyone at Vérité why. It could turn into a whole sex slave thing that—”

With a growl, he pulled Jason into his arms and kissed him long enough that he was sure he was awake. “Speaking of _hard_ …” he murmured as his cock obliged him.

Jason snaked a hand downward to check it out. “For an old man, you sure are horny.”

Then Michael did spank him, although it was more like a careful tap on the ass. “How in the world am I going to tell everyone I have you as my boyfriend? They’ll believe I lost my mind.”

“I predict you’re going to be surprised. Most of the staff already knows. I mean, come on, why would I be with you in New York for so many months? I’m not _that_ great.”

As he released him, Michael was laughing. “Oh, I see. So you’re just a good-looking fuck-boy?”

“Something like that.”

“Yeah? Well, since you’ve saved my life twice, I think there’s a little bit more to you than that!” He sat up, then moved to the bed’s edge. “Up and at’em!”

After they’d showered, shaved, and dressed in their best, Michael followed Jason into the living room where Nicky was setting out coffee, cream, sugar, and pastries. “Hey,” she said when she saw them. “Don’t you look nice. Jason, it’s good to see you wearing that suit.”

Michael nodded his agreement. They’d managed to retrieve the clothing they’d left at the house in the woods that day including Jason’s gorgeous suitcoat, the one meant for that dinner party. He surveyed the table she’d set. “This is nice of you, Nicky. Thank you.”

She shrugged as they sat down. “I know you guys have a big day ahead.”

“You too,” Jason said as he took a chocolate tartlet from the tray of goodies, then offered his cup for the coffee being poured. “Did your escort contact you?”

“Said they’d be here at 7:30. I also heard from the moving company and they confirmed that they’ll be at my place at 8:00.” 

“How do you feel about cleaning out your apartment?” Michael asked. He’d offered to pay the rent on the place if she wanted to keep it, but she’d declined, telling him it would always be associated with her job with Treadstone … not a happy memory.

“Well, I’m not looking forward to sorting through all the crap I’ve accumulated, but I’m also excited that I’ll begin taking classes in January.”

Nicky wanted to be an intelligence analyst working for the FBI. Thanks to her degree in psychology, which had had a focus on criminal justice, she’d found it easy to get accepted to three local colleges. Her real-world experience working for the CIA had also been a plus, so the outlook was good. Plus, Jim had already told her he’d give her a recommendation when the time came.

“Well, how about I come over and help you later on?” Jason asked just then. “We’ve got a lot of meetings, but I think we’ll be finished around 3:00, right?” he asked, looking over at Michael.

“Hopefully, but sure, we’ll help.”

“You’ve got your own apartment to do, Jason.”

“Not until Wednesday. I have to spend a few days with my team.”

Nicky’s eyes had a sudden sparkle. “Not to mention everyone else who’ll want intimate details as to how you ended up the Big Boss’s main squeeze.”

Michael gasped an instant before he laughed. He gave Jason a playful look. “So you’re both on the same page, I see!”

“Come on, Michael. Didn’t you ever work in an office environment before you were the boss?” Nicky was grinning as she asked the question. “The gossip is rampant. You guys disappeared for _months,_ and I’m betting more than one of them already had reason to suspect you two were an item.”

“We were very careful.”

“I’m sure you were, but you can never tell when someone might spot you by chance.”

“She’s right,” Jason said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Look how Alejandro stalked me in Berlin and almost got me killed.”

“Ah. Yes, that’s true. Don’t know if I told you, but he was terminated.”

“You’re talking about that stalker guy?” Nicky asked.

“Yeah. Can’t say that I’m surprised you fired him.” He felt a sudden sense of relief. “Thanks.”

Michael gripped his hand, giving it a squeeze. “You put your entire body between me and trouble. The least I can do is fire an asshole.”

For a moment, no one said anything. “Okay, I’m thinking Michael might get the medal for Boyfriend of the Year,” Nicky said finally.

Michael exhaled on one long breath. “Naw. Jason’s already got that one, not to mention all the other hero rewards.”

“Would you stop!” Jason looked embarrassed. “I was just doing what I do. Come on, you know that. I’m a—”

“—wonderful human being?” Nicky said before he could finish.

“—amazing person?” Michael added.

Jason laughed. “Okay, okay! You guys want me to get a swollen head, keep it up!”

“We’re working on a big, huge crown you can wear!” Nicky said with a giggle.

Michael laughed as Jason rolled his eyes. It was going to be an interesting day.

§ § §

When they pulled into Michael’s parking space in the rear of the building, Jason realized that for the first time he’d be using Vérité’s VIP entrance, the one for Michael and his occasional guest. Wow, he’d come up in the world. Who knew saving a guy’s life—which for him was nothing but instinct—could reap such benefits? He almost laughed at the thought, but pressed a hand to his mouth, suppressing the impulse.

There were two other SUVs with them and he wondered if Michael was remembering trips in his father’s entourage with his Secret Service escort. Right now, though, he wouldn’t ask. The silliness of earlier was over. Truth be told, he was a bit nervous and he knew Michael must be too.

They went up the elevator and down a short, private hall through a door that opened after Michael entered a code. Then they walked into Michael’s office.

Michael’s admin, April was standing there, a portfolio in hand. “Good morning, sir. Welcome back,” she said, all business. She nodded at Jason, ignoring the FBI agents who’d already secured this floor. “Everyone is waiting.”

Michael shrugged out of his topcoat and laid it across a chair, taking the portfolio and reading what Jason assumed was the agenda he’d dictated to her a few days prior. Jason had enough time to remove his own coat before they were moving again. They went quickly through the office door, down another hallway and into the executive board room. Jason heard the dark murmur of voices overlaid with the tinkle of silverware and china. When the door opened, those sounds ceased. “Ladies, gentlemen,” Michael said, going to the head of the table. “Yes, it’s me, finally.” He smiled at them. “In the flesh.”

There was coffee and several trays with pastries, croissants, and other goodies on the side, but Jason took a moment to set down the small notebook he’d always used for meetings like this, doing his best to ignore the frank stares. 

“Here you go,” April said, setting a cup of coffee in front of him after she’d done the same for Michael. “Are you hungry, Jason?”

Her friendly tone helped. The last thing he wanted was to be treated differently. “Thanks, April. I had breakfast already.”

With that, the meeting started. Michael, who’d been doing this for many years, dealt with important company business first, interlacing the details with effusive praise for the person or persons who’d been keeping that particular aspect of the company alive, healthy, and moving forward. He made jokes every now and then, claiming that he’d been relaxing in his Jacuzzi while everyone here was laboring at their complicated tasks. No one believed that, of course, because Michael? He was a hard worker and always had been. 

After he’d let them know that their company was still in good shape, he began to set up the upcoming meetings. The folks who’d worked so hard to take care of things over the last few months would have their say, make their budget requests, ask for whatever help they needed to keep things running smoothly as they moved forward. They also needed to find creative ways to keep Michael in the loop, especially for proprietary items. They added that to each manager’s agenda and Jason added it to his list, because he’d soon be dealing with his own small group. 

Finally, an hour-and-a-half later, they were ready to go onto the smaller meetings, which would keep Michael busy the entire day. First though, Michael had gotten to the portion of his speech that made Jason more nervous than confronting Graeme McKenna or even one of Gustavo’s thugs.

Eying the attentive group, Michael took a deep breath, cutting his gaze momentarily Jason’s way so he’d know it was time. “And now, a personal matter. Uh, I’m sure you’re all wondering what’s been going on, given that there’s been very little information.” He looked around at the attentive group. “I wish I could give you the details, but I am not a liberty to do so. I can only tell you it was serious and, yes, at times, life-threatening. My life was in danger several times as was Jason’s. He’s not wielding that arm crutch as a fashion statement, believe me.” Michael paused to take a breath. “I owe my continued health to Jason as well as an amazing security team.” With that, he reached under the table and took Jason’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “The fact that we need to remain in New York is one you’d understand if you knew the details. Some day you will, but right now? I can’t tell you what’s going on …” He made a dramatic pause, looking around the room. “…except for this.”

With that, Michael stood up, tugging on Jason’s hand so he’d do the same. Michael slid his arm around Jason’s waist. “Here’s the good part … in fact, the great part. If you bet heavily in the office pool that Jason and I were any item, you’ve got money coming to you.”

The stunned silence lasted for about two heartbeats and then the room erupted in loud clapping, whistles, catcalls, and cries of “Yes!” as people sprang to their feet. The level of mayhem rose even more when Michael leaned close enough to kiss Jason on the cheek. 

Jason got warm all over and then had to laugh. No one was shocked or unhappy, hell, no! This was a show of support, a fucking show of confidence and love for Michael … and him?

Michael let them get exhausted before he called for silence. “Okay, well, thank you. I’m glad you approve. Uh, there are a few of you who go back so far with me that you remember Melissa, my wife of many years. I just want to say that being gay, uh, expressing the fact that, yes, I am gay and always have been, isn’t in any way meant to diminish my years with Melissa. I loved her with all my heart, I love our two kids, I loved all of it and, yes, I mourned her death for a long time. I-I was born in an era different from this one, as most of you know, one where being gay hadn’t been accepted the way it increasingly is here in 2017. I’d been prepared to live with that sad fact as I aged, but Jason, well, Jason happened.” He gave them a smile so wide it made Jason weak in the knees. Then he sighed. “Now, well, here we are and hiding this thing? It’s over. I can’t do it anymore, so …” He looked around at all of them. “Thank you for your professionalism, you work ethic, your smarts, and your love. I am, indeed, a very blessed man.” 

“Kiss him!” someone called.

Michael blinked. Then, before Jason could protest, he’d been taken into Michael’s arms and kissed with a great deal of passion, although …thank God, no tongue. As they parted, he could feel the heat in his cheeks. 

“Okay, okay!” Michael said with a laugh as people whistled and cat-called. “Jason’s been embarrassed enough, you guys. You know him. He’s the brilliant-but-quietly-competent guy always willing to lend a hand whenever you need him. So go easy, huh?”

Then, with a quick grin, Michael was gathering his papers. “See you in a few?” he whispered, but then the first of several female friends were there to give Jason a hug and a kiss. “Your fans await,” Michael whispered as he turned away.

Jason appreciated the immediate joy everyone felt so he did his best to reciprocate, but the whole thing was messing up his mind. The former spy had been outed, big time.

Wild. And, yeah, uncomfortable.

§ § §

By the time Jason showed up to help, it was late afternoon and most of the heavy lifting had been done by the excellent moving company Michael had hired. “Hi,” Nicky said when he walked through the door. Then she saw his expression. “What’s wrong?”

He stopped to consider the question. “I’m not … sure. I just, uh, Michael outed us in front of the whole staff.”

“He said he was going to do that.”

“Yeah, I know, but it was … weird.”

“Embarrassing?” she said, going over to take him by the arm and lead him to the sofa, which still hadn’t been hauled away. They sat. “You seem kind of upset.”

“No, not upset. More like stunned.”

“But it wasn’t a surprise.” She rubbed his arm, concerned. “What stunned you?”

“That people were happy about it. For me. And Michael.”

Then she understood. Jason had led his life keeping a low profile, staying isolated from people as much as he could without arousing suspicion. He had no idea what people thought of him. “Uh, what were they doing?”

“Hugging and kissing me. Saying how happy they were, what a great guy Michael was, how blessed we were to have found one another.”

She slid her arm around his shoulder to give him a sideways hug. “That’s wonderful. They sharing in your good fortune, your joy. God knows you deserve it.”

He sucked in air between his teeth. “I guess I don’t know how to enjoy it.”

“I understand. You should talk to Dr. Peña when you get back home. It’s something you’ll need to work on.”

Jason chewed on that. “Because I’ve lived on the negative side of town for so long? It’s just natural to go there?”

“Exactly.” She sat with him for a moment, listening as the moving guy carried out her bed frame. Probably ought to get him focused on something else. That always worked. “So you here to help or you want to talk more?”

He came to attention. “No. Sorry, Nicky, I just—”

“Don’t apologize, you goof! I know you’re not used to happy places. Don’t worry. I’ll help you learn how to do it because I think there’s going to be a lot of happiness in your life from now on.”

That elicited a long silence. “Nicky?” Jason said finally, his eyes wide with disbelief. “The women? They kissed me. Kissed and hugged me.”

Then she was giggling like a crazy person. Arm around him, watching as his frown turned to a smile, she laughed until her stomach began to hurt. Life? Who knew it could be so great?


	32. Chapter Thirty-Two

  
  
**A Broken Mind: Betrayal**  
  
_The Story of Jason Bourne_  


**Chapter Thirty-Two**

With a careful watch over what he was doing, Jason filled the carafe with the hot coffee he’d made, then screwed on the top, all without burning himself. Given how groggy he was, that was a good thing. He set the carafe on the large tray already loaded with sugar, cream, spoons, mugs, napkins, and a selection of pastries including a few donuts. Then he carried the whole thing into the living room where he’d already cleared a space on the coffee table and set it down. Good. He looked around. The flat screen had that yuletide fireplace thing going and crackled every now and then. Nice of them to do that every year at Christmas, although Nicky had been the one to tell him about it. He’d turned on their satellite radio to the Christmas station, which added to the ambiance. Not to mention, of course, the giant Christmas tree they’d decorated two nights ago along with the tiny red-and-white lights wound around the TV, along the fireplace mantel, around one large mirror, not to mention a few other places. And, no, that wasn’t the end of it. There were two manger scenes, Baby Jesus a star feature, several Santas with and without the reindeers, stars of all sizes, angels, elves, you name it. Like an out-of-control kid, Michael had gone crazy with all of it. Nothing like almost dying to make you appreciate Christmas, huh?

For a minute, he stood there, soaking it all in. They’d been back in New York for more than two weeks now and had spent that time getting ready for their first Christmas together. All three of them had insisted that no one get presents and they’d all broken that promise. Speaking generally, he knew books, new tech, and clothes were involved for him, but the only specifics were what he’d bought for Michael and Nicky. Otherwise … well, it’d be a surprise.

During that last week, he’d had two bad nights, the PTSD popping up to remind him that it was still hanging around, ready to pounce whenever it pleased. He thought it might be jetlag since it happened right after they got back, but later, with Dr. Peña’s help, he realized it was more profound. After what happened in Paris what with the coming out, the dissolution of his apartment, his car, his furniture, he realized that he wasn’t the same person anymore, realized it on a fundamental level that’d smacked him in the face, hard. When you added that to all the shit Graeme had dumped on him about the black ops site … well, not fun.

Michael, of course, had been great. He’d done three sessions with Dr. Peña back around Thanksgiving, sessions designed for someone living with a PTSD guy like him. Since they now slept together, his sleep had been interrupted too, but he took it all in stride and told him on many occasions that the good was so much better than the bad. Jason couldn’t imagine being as patient as Michael was after he’d been jarred out of sleep at 3:00 a.m., but he’d been just that: uncomplaining, quiet, directing Jason back to himself and his reality, never overpowering him or losing his temper during the whole ugly scene. Amazing, he was fucking amazing.

Now it’s was Christmas morning and he’d wanted to set things up because so often Nicky did and he didn’t think that was fair, not to mention sexist. Jason checked his watch. 8:15. Someone should be along soon. Meanwhile … He reached for the carafe. 

“Hey, look at you! Merry Christmas!” A sleepy Nicky, wearing pajamas and a robe along with big, fluffy slippers, walked over to him.

“Merry Christmas.” As she sat down, he took her into an embrace, hugged her tight and kissed her cheek, waiting as she did the same. They moved back to grin at one another. “We’re still alive.”

“How about that? And you made breakfast.”

“That’s the biggest miracle, right? Although it’s not really breakfast.”

“Who said breakfast?” 

They turned to see Michael walking toward them. Like Jason, he was wearing sweats. “I guess the old man is last,” he said as they stood up, taking both of them into a wide embrace, kissing them. “Merry Christmas!” He took a moment to check out their expressions. “It looks like we’re all filled with Christmas cheer. Can’t imagine why.”

They all sat down and spent the next few minutes getting coffee, picking out something sweet, taking bites of each other’s selection. 

“I hope Graeme is enjoying his Christmas morning at MCC,” Nicky said with obvious glee. “I’m sure it’s tons of fun.”

MCC was the Metropolitan Correctional Center, one of the feds’ prisons. It might be better than Rikers, but no prison was a fun place to be, especially on a day when lots of people were home eating yummy food as they opened presents. “He made all the decisions that put him there,” Jason said before he took a huge bit of a chocolate donut. Graeme, as it turned out, had been persuaded by his handlers to go well beyond his role as a gay sex teacher slash analyst. Someone higher up in the CIA had convinced them to convince him he had what it takes to be an awesome asset and he’d let that fever dream go to his head. Idiot. Now he was in for a world of hurt, although he might be able to knock a few years off his sentence if he flipped on those creeps. Time would tell. At the moment, according to Jim, he thought he was being clever in refusing to give them the info they needed. Yeah, real smart, Graeme. “They probably serve a special Christmas dinner,” he murmured.

“I hope he chokes on it.”

“So you’ll be spending New Year’s Eve with Chris, huh?”

She punched him in the shoulder. “Don’t you dare start on me!”

“You mean because you’ll be wearing that sexy dress you wore the night of the Vérité party?” Michael had insisted she needed something amazing for that evening with the entire Vérité staff plus the BC employees who worked contract. It’s been a huge, swanky affair in one of the largest hotels in Paris, one that’d been booked months ago. Michael had gone all out with a first-class meal, the best champagne, a string quartet for dinner _and_ the best DJ in Paris for the after-dinner dancing. Damn, he must’ve danced with every woman in the place … or it felt that way. And the worst thing? He wasn’t a dancer! Michael said they wanted to know what had attracted the “boss,” but Jason? He had a feeling that at least a few of them just wanted to feel him up. Weird! Anyway, there’d been bonus envelopes for everyone not to mention other small gifts. And Nicky? She’d been a fascinating outsider, the attractive young friend of Michael’s loved one. While the Vérité staff had been busy congratulating him, they’d been even more busy questioning her. “You looked gorgeous, you know,” Jason said to her now.

“That you did,” Michael said with a nod. “The question I was asked the most outside of when did I first become attracted to Jason was about you.” Michael smiled at Nicky. “Is she seeing anyone? That’s what all the handsome young men were asking.”

Nicky rolled her eyes. “And then I broke their hearts by coming back to the States.”

“And dating an FBI guy.”

“You stop!” she said, shaking a finger at him. “We barely know one another.”

“Yeah, well big brothers can be notoriously suspicious.”

She put a hand on her hip as she gave him the evil eye. “Oh, you’re my brother now? When did that happen?”

“It’s been there, lurking. Now it’s starting to come out.”

“Now, now children,” Michael said, shaking a finger at both of them. “Let’s not fight, not on Christmas morning.”

“Sorry, _Dad,_ Jason said and then they were grinning at one another.

“Presents! Let’s open presents!” Michael said, jumping up off the couch to grab a few.

And that’s when things got a little crazy.

§ § §

By mid-afternoon, they were back in bed. Nicky had a lunch date with Chris, which meant they’d had the opportunity and they always took advantage of such things. As Jason lay in Michael’s arms, their bodies still pressed close, he had to wonder again how such love was possible. Sex, sure. Sex made perfect sense. It was a wonder that more men didn’t go for a male lover because, let’s be honest, men wanted to get it on. Sure, the smart ones knew how to slow things down with a woman, to tune into her needs, to do their best to care for her until they were able to come together … or not. He didn’t have an extensive history with women, but he knew that sometimes the guy got off and then had to double back and help his partner. Gay men, though, at least in his limited experience, often got off together. That was part of the fun. And guys? Let’s face it, they _always_ wanted to get off.

“What’re you thinking?” Michael murmured.

“Thinking about how great this is … you and me.”

“The sex?”

“Sure. Definitely, but it’s more than that, much more. I never felt this way about anyone I wasn’t related to.”

That produced a smile. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Jason raked a hand through Michael hair, studying him. “You’re just … it seems like you’re meant for me. If I believed in God …”

“Me and my aging body?”

“Your body is beautiful and I love it. If you want to improve that perfection, I’ll do it with you, like I said.” He’d given Michael a set of adjustable dumbbells along with the promise to help him. There were several machines in their gym including a treadmill, a cycling bike, and an elliptical trainer. Michael used one of them every day so his cardio was in good shape. He’d love to have more of a six pack, but at his age, that was difficult. Still, the weights would help his upper body firmness. “We can work together.”

“Come the first of the year and we’ll be doing that anyway.”

“True.” The penthouse now had three work areas: Michael’s office, which was one of the former guest bedrooms next door, Jason’s table in the large dining room, because he liked to spread out, and Nicky’s desk in her bedroom, which was a master bedroom just like theirs. “I’m glad you asked Nicky to work part-time,” he said, unsure if he’d expressed that thankfulness. “It’s not so much that she needs the money, but it—”

“—it makes her a part of the team.” Michael patted his cheek. “I read people pretty well.”

“She’s professional and competent, which is great because she knows you didn’t hire her because you felt sorry for her.”

“We need someone whose job is tracking the three of us, scheduling all the appointments, making sure the FBI knows and the rides or whatever are available, as well as checking in with April in Paris.”

“She’ll do us both proud, then graduate with honors and begin her rise in the FBI.”

“True.” Michael ran a hand down Jason’s hip. “And you?”

He wiggled closer. “I’ll be your kept boy.”

“Of course you will. All those years of training will fall away and you’ll do nothing except devote yourself to me.”

They grinned at one another. “I like it,” Jason said with a little nod. “I like it a lot. After all those years of spying and lying and trying to stay alive, it’s a good change. Less tension.”

Michael groaned. “Yeah, I figured you would.” He sighed in a dramatic fashion. “Jason? You are so full of shit.”

“Whatever you say, master.”

“Oh!” Michael turned Jason in his direction. “You know what that means, young man?”

Jason’s smile stretched wide. “I’m hoping it means a spanking.” For Jason, the smacks on the butt were a sure-fire turn-on.

Michael kissed him on the mouth, twice. “It’s Christmas. Who am I to deny you something you enjoy?” Then he pulled Jason even closer.

“Ow!” Jason yelped, although it was little more than a tap. “Ow!”

Life was good, wasn’t it? Very, very good.

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it! I hope you enjoyed the story and if you did, I'd love to hear from you.
> 
> FYI, for several reasons, it took me more than a year to write this. For one, I decided I wanted to be able to post the whole thing, which I normally don't do. For another, I did that without a beta, so all the typos and such fell on me--no fun! And reason number three would be the current political climate in the U.S. No, I'm not going to rant and rave about it, but it's been affecting my sleep and my health, although nothing serious, just stuff that slowed me down. 
> 
> (Nothing in this story has any direct reference to real-life politics, but it did give me an education in certain things such as the judicial system. :)
> 
> I have another story outlined, but don't know if/when I'll write it. I do have a short one-shot that I'm working on and I may go back to Mark Watney for awhile, since Mark and Jason Bourne are my two favorite Matt Damon characters. I may also post more of my longer "Queer as Folk" stories. In any case, I'll do something!


End file.
